Nine stitches later...
Probably just by reading the title "Nine stitches later..." it's pretty obvious how stupidity got the best of me. So much for my record of 10 1/2 weeks. Man... So it all started Sunday night. I got triggered. And I flipped out. I don't remember much, but I know that I thought I was 12 years old (I'm 16, almost 17 now). I thought that I was in 2005 and that my abuser was in the process of sexually abusing me. It was absolute hell. My sister said that I was crying for a really long time and that I freaked out when I saw myself in the mirror. It was really scary for both of us. I've never dissociated like that before. So I tried to bring myself back to 2009 by crying somemore, looking in the mirror, looking at pictures of myself, talking to my sister, etc. Finally I gave up and went to sleep because the SI urge was getting stronger and I knew that I didn't want to SI. ** TRIGGER**The next morning (this morning), nothing had really changed. I still felt like I was 12 and I felt like absolute crap. Everything felt heavy, it was if my muscles were made of lead. I didn't want to move, breathe, anything. Finally at my wit's end, I grabbed my blade and cut. The first cut was deep, but I kept going at the same cut. Deeper and deeper. Each swipe brought a flow of blood and a little bit more of my 16 year old self back. I bandaged it with a tissue and a shoestring and went along with my day. Six hours later, I took the bandage off, thinking that the blood had stopped. I was wrong. Terribly wrong. At 4:00pm, my therapist came over for family therapy and we all gathered around the table. By the end of the meeting, the blood was running down my leg, going through my thick and heavy black sweatpants, and leaking onto the sleeve of my sweatshirt that was resting in my lap. I went downstairs to check what was going on and was shocked to see the blood. It looked bad. My sister saw it and immediately went to get my Grandma, who saw it and had my Grandpa take me to the ER. It was obvious that I needed stitches. Nine stitches later, I am in one piece. I felt like such crap. All the other kids in the pediatric ER were little and coughing up blood or vomiting or whatever. And there I was with a self-inflicted injury. Pretty dumb, huh? It was so awkward trying to explain to everyone that I had done it on purpose. They couldn't believe that I could possibly do such a thing. I lost a lot of blood when the Dr. was sewing me up. When I stood up, I passed out. It was bad. I felt even more stupid and dumb. So here I am, sitting in bed with my laptop, thinking. What will it take for me to quit cutting for good? Some bad scars? Got 'em. The scars to negatively impact my life? Check. Having to spend tons of money on scar cream? Yep. What about stitches? Got those too now. Hospitalizations? Been there. Court orders forbidding me to SI? Yep still got that. Having to go to therapy 2x a week? Yep. I could continue like this forever. So what's it gonna take, Tracie, for you to stop this mess? You barely missed an artery this time. What about next time? Are you going to have to die from this? Man... I don't want to live like this. I have a future and a plan. I'm gonna go somewhere in life, and my plans don't include more stitches or hospitalizations. I got some thinking to do... So that's my story. Stitches suck. They itch really really bad. Grrr... ~Tracie
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