I emailed the counselor and told her I wanted to talk about the suicidal and self harm issues. That I wanted to discuss what happened in freshman science class. That Erik wasn’t going back to counseling and that I needed coping skills to get through the yelling.
She asked me if I knew why self injury was such a big deal. Not a clue… you can mess up and kill yourself. Apparently there is a much higher increase in suicide for the three months after self injury.
I wanted to talk to her about it. I couldn’t. She asked me how frequently I did it. Not frequently. Honestly, at that time, I’m not sure I could even come up with a number.
E had put in his intake paperwork that I had hit and pushed him and that I threatened to call the cops on him. I haven’t.
He said I had inappropriate emotional relationships with a professor in college and a coworker. I don’t think he knows what an emotional relationship is. Or hell maybe I don’t. Maybe I’m just the one fucked up.
She said she wasn’t convinced I didn’t have borderline personality disorder. She went down the list of symptoms. I claimed I didn’t meet them. But honestly, I can make a case I suffer from all the personality disorders.
She told me I needed to talk. That she liked me but I needed to open up. Why would she like me? She asked me if I was mad at her. I wasn’t. I knew I needed to talk. But how do I? She asked me where I self harmed. I held back tears and shook my head. I couldn’t. She told me she already knew. But I still couldn’t. I needed to but couldn’t. I was ashamed. Who does that? I told her I’d write her. I chickened out. I wrote her. I put everything in words.
I’m afraid and alone.