Attention seeking....Or In Distress?

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Introduction

I have always been an extremely emotional person, with extreme mood swings that fluctuate with the events that occur to me, or to certain people in my life. In a way, one can safely assume that my mood reacts according to circumstances. More often than not, I am easily irritable and have a short fuse - for I blow up on just about everything on Earth that irritates me. Yet sometimes one may find me easy-going. However, that is dependent on my mood.

Anyway, the reason why I ramble so much is because this piece of work is going to be about my own experience with self-harm and that is closely related to my emotions and feelings. I find it safe to talk about it here where none here really sees me on a daily basis and therefore I think I can be frank. People kept telling me that I shouldn't do it (and yes, I have stopped but only because I am FORCED TO. Yes, I'm not happy about being forced to stop but I have to if I am to continue schooling and finishing my A levels in junior college and moving on to the University. I just can't let THEM destroy my life again, can I? Yet this once again shows that I have no control - just as I have no control over my subject combination when I was in secondary school and my life of being taunted mercilessly by others, not that I ever cared.

You, the reader may think me a damaged person who has been abused severely after reading my story of self-harm. But the reverse is true. I had a great life as a child though my parents are strict and I, as the eldest child enjoyed literally the best of everything. In fact, I got most of what I wanted, be it books, mobile phone and freedom that my younger sisters will die for etc. So why do I do what I did?

I really don't know, you see, so I hope that I can get meaningful insights from you, the reader on why this happens. Meanwhile I will try to narrate the incidents as best as I can.


Two months ago...

I was frustrated, angry yet helpless as the boy who I disliked intensely sat next to me, his reluctance to comply with my teacher's orders to sit next to me was as great as or perhaps even greater than mine. Yet I was the one who was rude and complaining during lesson time after he sat next to me. And so my teacher ignored my pleas that he not be seated next to me and continued on with the lesson.

But I really had a good reason - for he had disturbed me the last lesson before this and I was actually extremely furious with him and had no desire to be so near him. However, my teacher, Ms L was unaware and therefore I fumed in silence, helpless and frustrated.

The idea had been in my head and I had started doing it again, due to recent stress and guilt from conflicts that occurred over a period of two months - first a quarrel with a senior in front of a group of student leaders to which I am part of and later days before this incident, a quarrel with Ms L over the allocation of class duties.

But that day was the first time I got caught. I had asked for, and was granted permission to visit the washroom and I took my penknife with me.

I was reluctant to do it and yet the tension, the fury, the guilt and everything seem to overwhelm me and I simply can't cry it out. I don't cry easily, not now, not anymore not that I don't but it's hard to.

And with all of the frustration and anger, I slashed my wrist harder than I ever had, losing control for the 1st time for I had been careful the previous times that I did it, not to slit it far deeper than I can manage to clean up. Enouogh to hurt and draw blood but not to create permanent scars that I knew will be present if the cut is deep.

You may again think that I'm crazy but that this method of reliving tension actually works but on that fateful day, it didn't really. Blood was spurting out of the cuts in far more amount than it normally do and I hastily washed my bloodied wrist before I got back to class. My biggest error lies in not bringing my jacket so that I can effectively hide my wrist.

Back in class, I sat down but blood was again flowing down my hand. My friend thought my movements strange and alerted another friend of mine of her suspicion. I saw her face pale and I knew that she had saw my bloodied hands. By that time, I was in a frenzy, literally begging my teacher to allow me to the toilet to wash my bloodied hands which I kept hidden under the table. Unsuccessfully, of course for she had seen them and had therefore not grant me the permission to go to the toilet to 'get rid of the evidence' so as to speak.

In fact, she gave the class an assignment and ask to speak with me outside the classroom. The whole affair was pretty unpleasant for I have no wish to let her see the extent of the 'damage' inflicted even though she ordered me to and I refused her point blank. By that time, she was furious - far more angry than I have ever seen.

She ordered me to follow her, which I did, protesting every step of the way. To my horror, she brought me to the general office and ordered me 'to stay in the sickbay' and she left. I just sat there, tired and defiant, my hand still bloodied.

I was then asked by my form teacher, Ms L, to wash my wounds which I did. Then I sat back into the chair as Ms L walked out of the room again.

To my immense surprise, the school counselor, Mrs K, walked into the room, accompanied by the teacher-in-charge of Student Welfare, Mrs L. I was surprised as I thought that Mrs K was not in school.

They asked me why I did what I did as Ms L, my form teacher came back with plasters for my cuts. I was strangely calm yet defiant - ignoring their questions as my teacher 'plastered' my wounds.

Soon, Mrs K was the only adult left in the room with me. I still proved to be largely uncooperative, insisting that I be allowed to return to class for my lessons. However, my pleas were refused - I am to stay with her till I answered her question and to promise that I will never do it.

Anyway to make a long story short, I ended up in her room later and managed to get out after I promised (or should I say, coerced into promising ) that I will never do it. But then again, it was only a matter of less than a week before I broke that 'promise' and this time the situation was even worse for I was in hysterics after I got caught due to some reason. However, that is a story for another time.

So what do you think. I assure you that this is not a piece of fiction. This incident really happened. I did have a history of self-mutilation but I was never caught before. It all started last year, during the year of exams. It helped in a way none of the other ways could, especially so as the stress is great and I felt so alone...