I’m sat here listening to ‘Somewhere Only We Know’ and having weird flashbacks of the first time I heard it. I was in a bus going down a motorway with loads of drama people. We were going to see a production of Blood Brothers.
I remember feeling feverish; the sleeve of top was sticking to skin on my arm where I’d been self-harming the night before. I was in a lot of pain.
I remember sitting there and hearing this song in my sort of painful haze, I was fairly disorientated at the time and the day didn’t get any better.
I’m not going to go into details but they had changed the play a little and incorporated self-harm and suicide into the plotline, which ended with me on the floor in hysterics. I don’t think I’ve ever cried so much in my life, and no-one even noticed.
I remember the drive back really vividly. I remember that my face felt raw and tight and my arm was killing me, I was so tired. I remember meeting my friend’s gaze and holding it for a moment, he looked exhausted. It was late at night and the bus was lit up by these harsh, fluorescent lights. I felt like I’d been in a war or something, my throat was sore from screaming and my eyes hurt from crying. I felt so completely defeated.
I’ve been feeling a little better over the last few weeks, but still pretty defeated. I’ve just been having a little cry. I find crying very therapeutic, I’ve also been writing a bit lately, which is really nice.
I went and did my peer mentor training on Thursday. We played a game at the start where we said three things about ourselves, two were true and one was false. Everyone had to guess which was true and which was false.
My three were: I get on with my parents; I’m a drummer; I have Polish family.
Everyone in the room immediately said: she’s not a drummer- definitely not a drummer and she gets on with her parents, she really gets on with her parents.
I found it amazing that the people talking were people who I have never spoken to, who have had no communication with me. Everyone was so unanimous with their decision that Miss actually moved onto the next person, at which point I yelled out over the commotion.
“I don’t get on with my parents.”
I got a lot of stunned looks but they moved on pretty fast. Imagine if I told them the rest, imagine if they had any idea how far off the mark they are. There was a time that I found their false perceptions amusing, but now they’re so far from reality that it’s disturbing, it’s almost cruel.
I don’t want to walk around with a label on that says Beware: Nutter but I’d rather people didn’t think I was a pampered mummy’s girl who still plays with her dolls.
I feel so powerless sometimes, so utterly helpless. My Gods are the only ones who keep me in one piece. I don’t know how I manage- but somehow I always wake up in my bed in the morning, even if I have no clue what I was doing the night before.
Oh, and for the record, tights are murder on injured skin. When I self-harmed on the tops of my thighs a month or so ago and then had to wear tights the next day I was not happy. They stick to the skin and you have to peel them off every few minutes. I couldn’t cross my legs for about a week.
In other random trivia, did you know that the Polish word for danger is niebezpieczenstwo? I would have thought that any situation that calls for the use of the word ‘danger’ isn’t going to be one where you have a lot of time to spare…