What Counts As A Relapse?
"So, is that part of your self-injury stuff?"
"What do you mean?"
"Your leg. Did you do that on purpose?"
"No. It was a spider bite that got infected."
"But you did that, right? You're the reason it's infected."
"That isn't the same thing."
"Isn't it?"
Well world, here it is.
Last week I got a spider bite. I don't know when I got it, I just woke up one morning and saw it. It was small and insignificant really. Had I not been shaving, I would have missed it.
But I didn't miss it. I saw it and found it again later that afternoon when I so sad, so angry, so filled with dark thoughts that the only thing I could think of to do was run my fingers over it...and over it...and over it some more.
Before I knew it, what was once a small pea-sized bite was now a quarter sized area of raw, oozing flesh.
I told myself it wasn't a big deal and put a band-aid over it.
Two days later I was in the doctor's office with a staph infection.
Now, a week later, I can add another scar to the list.
Does this count? Is this a relapse?
For the first time in my life I have made a mark without using a blade.
Did I feel better when I made it?
No.
I don't know what to say about that.
And for the first time in more than two years, I was being asked about an injury.
It pissed me off.
"So, is that part of your self-injury stuff?"
"What do you mean?"
"Your leg. Did you do that?"
The answer is yes. Not on purpose, not with the intent of running head-long into an escape mechanism I thought I was past.
But I did it.
And someone noticed.
I guess it does count as self-injury. I was so caught up in what I was feeling that I really wasn't feeling anything at all. My hands had a life of their own, and before I knew it, they'd done what I'd only imagined doing before.
But unlike the past, when I went to find a band-aid, I couldn't find one right away. Believe it or not, I don't use them much anymore.
There are many levels to self-injury and until now I have been clean.
But today, I have had to accept that I took a step backwards. Although I feel defeated and have the urge to throw in the towel completely, I know I can't. This one thing doesn't have to erase all of the progress I have made.
But I see now that this isn't over for me. Given the right set of circumstances, my body went into automatic pilot and I will forever have the scar reminding me of this fact.
I know there are people who will read this and be disappointed and for that I'm sorry. But for me to lie about it would be wrong.
Tonight, I was asked to face a harsh reality. But this doesn't have to be the end. I cannot be this sad, this overwhelmed, this frustrated forever.
"What do you mean?"
"Your leg. Did you do that on purpose?"
"No. It was a spider bite that got infected."
"But you did that, right? You're the reason it's infected."
"That isn't the same thing."
"Isn't it?"
Well world, here it is.
Last week I got a spider bite. I don't know when I got it, I just woke up one morning and saw it. It was small and insignificant really. Had I not been shaving, I would have missed it.
But I didn't miss it. I saw it and found it again later that afternoon when I so sad, so angry, so filled with dark thoughts that the only thing I could think of to do was run my fingers over it...and over it...and over it some more.
Before I knew it, what was once a small pea-sized bite was now a quarter sized area of raw, oozing flesh.
I told myself it wasn't a big deal and put a band-aid over it.
Two days later I was in the doctor's office with a staph infection.
Now, a week later, I can add another scar to the list.
Does this count? Is this a relapse?
For the first time in my life I have made a mark without using a blade.
Did I feel better when I made it?
No.
I don't know what to say about that.
And for the first time in more than two years, I was being asked about an injury.
It pissed me off.
"So, is that part of your self-injury stuff?"
"What do you mean?"
"Your leg. Did you do that?"
The answer is yes. Not on purpose, not with the intent of running head-long into an escape mechanism I thought I was past.
But I did it.
And someone noticed.
I guess it does count as self-injury. I was so caught up in what I was feeling that I really wasn't feeling anything at all. My hands had a life of their own, and before I knew it, they'd done what I'd only imagined doing before.
But unlike the past, when I went to find a band-aid, I couldn't find one right away. Believe it or not, I don't use them much anymore.
There are many levels to self-injury and until now I have been clean.
But today, I have had to accept that I took a step backwards. Although I feel defeated and have the urge to throw in the towel completely, I know I can't. This one thing doesn't have to erase all of the progress I have made.
But I see now that this isn't over for me. Given the right set of circumstances, my body went into automatic pilot and I will forever have the scar reminding me of this fact.
I know there are people who will read this and be disappointed and for that I'm sorry. But for me to lie about it would be wrong.
Tonight, I was asked to face a harsh reality. But this doesn't have to be the end. I cannot be this sad, this overwhelmed, this frustrated forever.