When I am about to self harm, as with most things, I do not tend to do it like most other people do.

With me, it’s about forcing myself to do more and more, until the point of hurting myself.

Which is what occurred last Friday, the 10th May, the day after a visit by the person whom is harassing me.
The person made sure that all the other people whom live here heard his allegations.
That I had tried to convince him and one of the other families living here, as well as someone else whom has moved out of here, to let me babysit for them – just so I could be alone with their children so I could abuse them.

I guess it might come as no surprise, to some of you, that when one is being falsely accused of wanting to having sex with three children of the age of 8,5 and 5 that there is a need to self harm.
And so, at around 2.30am I was walking mile after mile after mile around the roads that surround me.
Only for me to remember that I still needed to get a piece back from where I had crashed my drone early that day.

And so I climbed over the fence to where the crash had occurred.
It was the moment I landed on the other side of the fence, that I realised what it was I was attempting to do.
As there was no chance of finding a small piece of black plastic in the dark that accompanies 3.30am.

Turning around, I climbed over the fence.
While I was walking back home it took a while to realise that my hand hurt, and was wet.
Turning on the trusty torch on my phone, with one look at my hand, I was taken aback by what I was seeing.

As for the pain, sure I felt it.
However, pain and autism have a strange partnership.
I give myself a pretty bad burn just about every time I cook myself something, and just get on with it.
Therefore, it can be said that I don’t really get pain, even though it comes with a “hurt” feeling.
Yet when I tell everyone about it, no one does anything or says that it is not right.
Which, of course, increases the chance of one performing self harm.

And so one just gets on with it.
Now, four days later, I am pretty sure I managed to miss damaging the tendons as I can just about open my hand as well as close it.
What I am not sure about is whether I need another tetanus shot.
What I do know is that as the two goons, I mean Hospital Porters, chose to deal with me like I was a want-to-be sex offender last time I was in A&E at Winchester Hospital, I won’t be going back there soon.

I guess with that there is another tale for me to tell.
Gosh give me strength, as when I type all this crap up, I have to re-live the memory of it.
And with that memory comes the emotion, after the fact, crashing over me like a tsunami.

 

My hand after cutting it on a fence, when out on a self-harming trip.