Why self-harm sucks

Drying hands on kitchen paper as I've run out of towels. They're all in the washing machine on repeat and will remain there until the water stops turning pink.

Pick one: itchy dressing or expensive dressing. Can't have both, it doesn't exist. I'm currently enduring the itchy version supplied by Mad Tortoise Nurse [more about her another day] in an effort to avoid wastage. I shall endeavour to endure the above until I start making holes where the itchies are.

Taxi fares to and from hospital. No money left for sweeties, toys or stickers. =[

Bending down to stroke or feed the cat becomes a feat of agility and balance, as I'm afraid if I bend the wrong way something will ping open in a most inopportune manner [and, for once, I'm not talking about my bra].

It's one thing to have healthcare staff bark instructions at you and sneer at your despicable attention-seeking behaviour. It's quite another to have them confide in you. A doctor once told me about the day he considered suicide; Mad Tortoise Nurse [more about her another day] told me all about her despair at her teenage daughter's recent self-injury. I sympathise, I empathise, but what the hell do you say? Especially when Mad Tortoise Nurse [more about her another day] says things like "I was so angry at her for being so stupid" and "I have to deal with stuff like that every day at work, I just want her to stop". Cheers love.

Feeling guilty for considering taking a painkiller.

My living room looks like Carrie's prom night, and I don't have the energy to clean anything yet. Still, I'm thankful I no longer possess carpet.

Feeling guilty for taking up valuable NHS resources meaning you don't seek assistance for repairs when you should. Injuring more in the meantime. Meaning you use even more resources when you do seek repair. Resulting in more guilt. Oh, how neat that little circle is.

Sitting with the knowledge that that little part of my brain that tells me when enough's enough hasn't told me that yet. Knowing that it'll get worse before it gets better. Resigning self to the fact that there's going to be more, soon. Feeling slightly sick at the cold preparation this entails [restocking first aid kit, replacing emergency taxi fund etc.]

Knowing I've undone months of hard work towards getting the anaemia at a manageable level. Nom nom spinach yes please.

Wondering how the hell I used to manage when I was attending A&E 3 or 4 times a week. Feeling like I want to apologise to myself for putting my body through that. And feeling slightly scared of going back to it.