i've never cried in the emergency room

triggerwarning: self harm (blood, pain, method), medical intervention after self harm 

i've never cried in the emergency room. i've been there a lot, mostly to get stitches after my blade ripped my skin open again. i had surgeons deny me local anesthesia, i got screamed at, told i was selfish, that i don't deserve getting help for those self inflicted wounds. i got angry in those instances. i also met a lot of caring people, nurses that held my hand while i was shaking, surgeons taking time to tell me that they're worried. 

a few years ago i was never prepared for self harm. i just sat there, in the bathroom in my childhood room, letting the blood drip from my legs, admiring the red and enjoying the calm. then i showed to wash it all away, and that was it. i didn't care for them at all. they bleeded through my jeans for days. i couldn't do my laundry myself without raising suspicion, so i hoped my mother wouldn't notice. i don't know if she did. she never said anything about it. 

today, i spent twenty euros on new bandages. different sizes, sterile, gauze. the person in the pharmacy looked worried, and i smiled at her, trying to look fine. i wasn't. i could see how much she wanted to ask where the wound was, how big, why i needed so much stuff to care for it. instead, she made sure to explain to me that the bandages are only sterile if i didn't touch the middle, that they wouldn't stick if there is any disinfectant on the skin, that i needed to wipe that away before applying it. i stood there, letting her talk. i knew everything, of course, but it seemed to help her. 

the first steps are the worst. i tried hard not to limp. i had already turned around, away from her, and so i could bite my lip without her seeing. after three steps, moving didn't send a lightning of pain through my whole thigh, and after a few more, my body adjusted to walking again, and the pain faded to a slight throbbing. i hoped i wouldn't bleed until i was home. normally, i am not that unprepared anymore. but i used up the last of my bandages to get to hospital, and over the night, the wounds opened up again, bleeding through the one from the er. 

"this will hurt", said the surgeon. i've waited for hours, it was late. i joked about being okay with some pain. a few seconds later, tears shot to my eyes. the red disturbing the pattern of skin and white scars had long stopped hurting. she looked at me, her eyes tired, and put the needle in again, different spot. i couldn't help the tears streaming down my face. it was only the injection to numb the area. i stopped myself from asking her to stop, focusing on one teardrop running down my cheek. a few seconds later, it was over. i wiped away the evidence of my weakness.

this morning i looked at the dark spots on the white  bandage from the night before. i imagined my leg underneath, the metal in it, because she used a stapler on me, to get it over quicker. it looked like some really weirdly placed piercings. i almost laughed. on the way home, the pain was creeping back in. i didn't feel like laughing anymore. instead, i unlocked my door and took my meds. i breathed through the shame, curled up and waited for sleep to take my consciousness away. soon it did. 

today, i won't cry. i'll wash the bloody towel, put my new bought bandages away. i'll take a shower, maybe sleep a bit. i'll hug every feeling that comes to say hello. i'll bite my lip every time i get up or take the first few steps. the pain will fade over the next few days. and i will stop talking about self harm again. i will do any and everything to forget until i'll sit at my doctor's office again to get the metal removed. 

i harm myself. i don't really talk about relapses on here. i don't think they belong on social media. it's a fine line between being authentic and oversharing. i don't feel comfortable anymore with posting pictures from hospital or out of ambulances. i have lots of them. i just don't think there is any use in those posts. i don't feel like there is any use in this one. but i'll share it anyway, just this one time - because maybe, my shame will feel less lonely. and maybe going on will be a little bit easier.