I’m trying to find a way to tell my mother….again.
I attempted suicide back in 7th grade twice (oh, and I’m in 10th for another, what, 15 days? So, almost 11th), and the school found out, and my mom just took me home and screamed at me and grounded me for three weeks.
So, I didn’t injure for a while (I started in 5th grade). I actually made it a whole year! (*cheers sarcastically. lol*) But, life kept going on, and I had nothing else. I wanted to be numb.
I started injuring again in, like, November, or something. I finally confided in someone, and they told my mom. Called her at 1 o’clock in the morning freaked out and panicking. Of course, like always, they overreact..and that instant. So, this time, my mom didn’t freak on me, but that next day when we both came home from work and school, she was quiet, and didn’t really seem like she wanted to be around me. I asked her what was wrong, and she told me about the phone call. She asked me what was going on, and I told her, “I don’t know. I’m just injuring again..” She asked me to show her where, and I did. She asked why I did it, and I said that it was numbing. Like, endorphins were being released when I SI, and it felt so calming. I felt…whole. However freaky and pathetic that sounds. That’s how it is.
So, she told me she wanted to put me in a mental institution.
“I’m not crazy! I just think I may be bipolar! Do you know how that will ruin my future?! No college wants to bring in a freak who injures herself and has been admitted in a freaking institution!! Especially a school like Bryn Mawr and Xavier and the rest of them!” I said.
“Well, Bipolar’s pretty crazy.” My mom said.
“I’m not, like, scizophrenic.”
“Bipolar might as well be schizophrenic…” Then an awkward silence.
All I could think was, “See, I really am a freak.”
“Well, I’ll call the doctor on Monday, and see about all of this.”
As much as I was scared and embarrassed, I felt relieved. FINALLY, I was getting some help. FINALLY I didn’t have to go through this alone anymore. FINALLY. An end that didn’t have to be me in a morgue.
But she never said anything about anything again, and here I am. Back to point A. She thinks I’ve stopped. She watched me for a while, but…I don’t know. Now, all I want to do is injure.
I finally broke down tonight, and started looking at things about SI, and I found S.A.F.E. Honestly, I’m thinking about telling my mom about this place. Maybe over the summer break, I can do an in-patient stay. I’m only 3 hours from Chicago, and about 4 from St. Louis. It’s not too far, but far away enough that I can do some healing by myself. Finally heal.
I now admit…I’m to the point where I’m a hazard to myself. I’ve hit bottom.
How do I tell my mom again, though….how?