Bloodletting (21 page)

The job is terrific, though it does get stressful sometimes. I’m much better at handling this now but still find, if I’m not careful, that my mind will misbehave, and I find myself shaking my head, saying ‘no’, actively getting rid of anything disturbing, unwanted and unhelpful.

I think about what a friend of mine once said in regard to work: keep what happens in proportion,after all,‘nobody dies’.And I try to take my father’s zen-like advice and just let stress, in whatever form, wash over me. Mostly I just enjoy what I do, and when I’m not concen
trating on work, I think about what I want for lunch, who I want to visit on the weekend, or what movie I want to see next.Ordinary things.

I speak to my parents regularly and try to ignore my mother when she complains about herself. I know she’ll never change, and that’s her prerogative, but I am very, very glad that I have.We don’t often talk about my past, though sometimes she’ll refer to ‘the time when you were peculiar dear’, usually to contrast with something I’m doing now. She’s not pleased that I’m having a book published about my experiences though no doubt would have been very supportive if it had been a comic novel or a light romance.

My father is very excited, very proud of me, and keen to read it despite the content: or perhaps because of it—it might help him understand me better.

Melissa and Archie read the first draft. Archie said that he had no idea. No idea. And that he wasn’t mentioned much, was he?

Jeremy doesn’t know about it.When he does he’ll be annoyed that he’s mentioned even less.

Alex knows, and agrees that we’ll each see things in a different way. Memory is like that. He’s not concerned.

I still take a mood stabiliser,Tegretol, and see a psychiatrist about once a year, but otherwise that’s it. It’s really only my long-time friends and family who have any idea about my past these days, as it’s normally not something I talk about. Mostly, I don’t need to.

A year ago, late one night after a work dinner, my boss noticed my scars, which are faded now. ‘Are they what they look like?’ she asked.

I thought for a moment. ‘I guess so, yes. I went through a bit of a tough time.’

‘Good on you for getting through it.’ She’s not mentioned the matter again. And though I wear short sleeves in summer, no-one else at work has mentioned it.

Although it’s now six years since I last picked up a razor blade, I’m still acutely conscious of the damage I did. I can’t be otherwise; whenever I shower, pick up something, shake hands with someone or even lie in bed at night with a book, I can see the scars. Sometimes I pull the sheet up so as not to be reminded but really, there’s no way I’m going to be able to forget what I did. And thought. But maybe that’s no bad thing. It’s a warning against complacency, as well as being a constant reminder of how much better things can be.

The names and some details have been changed to protect other people’s privacy. I think it is also important to point out that this book is not meant to represent the experiences or views of anyone else. This is my story, told as I remember it. I’m not speaking on behalf of other people who self harm, or the medical profession.The disorder varies widely in severity, and I understand cognitive behaviour therapy isn’t a conventional treatment for it.

My last visit was to a psychiatrist about six months ago and we discussed the issue of diagnosis. He suggested that I suffered from bipolar 2, which is similar to bipolar 1, but not as severe. He advised me to continue taking my medication.

I can also understand why there are so few books written about self harm by sufferers: they are damn hard to write.

I’d like to thank all those friends who have been so encouraging over the last eighteen months while I’ve been writing, and this group includes one of my favourite people. He didn’t know what the book was about but constantly reassured me that whatever I produced would be wonderful.

I’d also like to thank my family, in particular my older brother and sister-in-law, who listened to me talk about myself and didn’t once roll their eyes when I started to say, again, that perhaps I’d change the struc
ture.They’ve both been unfailingly supportive.

All at Allen & Unwin have been great from the start, especially Jo Paul,Rebecca Kaiser,April Murdoch,Marie Baird and Patrick Gallagher.

And finally, I’d like to thank the GP and psychiatrist in Perth who finally got it right.