Stationery supplies

I was going to call it my ‘box of tricks’ but quickly rethought as this was what my friend and I used to call our little tins of self-harm kit. This box is my very lovely box of reassurance left by my very considerate therapist. Before he went on holiday for 2 (and a half!) weeks he left me a box filled with mystery envelopes to open every few days whilst he was away A way to stay connected, to be reminded that he will return and to, in some small way, plug the gap I’d feel without him for a period of time. And a way to utilise the surplus of compliments slips and envelopes that he’s accumulated!

This mystery box, housed in the boot of my car for over 2 weeks now, has felt like a lifeline, a way to connect with a person who makes me feel safe, who ‘sees’ me and with who I am able to be honest and confront the tough stuff that kicks around in my head.

I opened the first envelope a few days into the ‘break’ to find a beautiful polished ammonite to hold as a transitional object whilst my therapist is away. It was super thoughtful and made me feel a real sense of closeness which mattered a great deal as I was really starting to feel the discomfort that comes with my constant fear of abandonment.

The other thing about it (and some of the contents of envelopes that followed) is the coincidences of life, memories and experiences of my own that they brought back and reconnected me to.

As a teenager I had a love for fossils, would relish the chance to go on the hunt on Norfolk beaches when we went to coast on a gloomy winter day. I also, at the time, was in the throes of the emerging battles in my head. About 13 or 14 when I started to rely on self-harm as a coping mechanism I’d had the insight that I needed to find activities that fulfilled me, offered me outlets. I’d always loved playing music, but my mum loathed the sound of my violin and, I must confess that a lone fiddle is not necessarily the most melodic and soothing of sounds. I wished (and still do) that I could find an artistic and creative side, drawing painting or making. Alas these capabilities have continued to elude me for 25 years since!

In my early teens I had invested heavily in the purchase of Fimo (a sort of easy to use clay that would be well familiar to any teenage girl in the early 90s!) I had a book of Fimo ideas – people showing how to create masterpieces with the brightly coloured cubes at my disposal. For months I tried to turn 2 small ammonites into a pair of drop earrings. Sadly, the end result was a flop (not a drop!), one earring weighed so heavily my ear bled and, by the end of the morning, the other had broken and I was down to a singular fossil attached badly to a cheap and now distorted hook!

So, what else did the box reveal to me?!

I’ve received a couple of poems. Both ones I knew but neither that I’d ever given a great deal of thought to. ‘If’ was first. Again, by coincidence my holiday only a few weeks ago took us to the home of Rudyard Kipling and, playing on the old gramophone in the sitting room was a recording of Ralph Fiennes reciting this very verse. I sat with my daughter and talked about the poetry of Kipling and leading to me telling her about my favourite of his “The female of the Species”. And, in my closeted feminist manner explaining to her that to me this was Kipling’s acknowledgement that, women are often able to be more single-minded and courageous in their pursuit of a goal. Maybe a reminder I should give myself more often!

Also ‘Invictus’ – to be honest a famous poem that I’d heard but meant little to me until I took the time to read it – finding that it is also a reminder of the strength of spirit and resilience within us all. I got the message.

I also enjoyed a fun list of things to do at the weekend – encouraging me to engage and have some family fun. Mission completed as we watched our wedding DVD with my daughter “mum, why couldn’t you wait so I could have been your bridesmaid?” You just can’t win can you?!

Then the pocket Thich Nhat Hanh – another coincidence and a blast from the past. A very good friend of mine was (and is I assume) I follower of all things Buddhist, always a calming force in my somewhat stormy world, I know a number of his books adorned her shelves, she’d been telling me about the power of meditation for decades before the mass populism that now surrounds the mindfulness industry. It was this friend that rescued me from my one and only foray into festival going in my late teens, driving many hours through the night to rescue me from a field on the other side of the country after the lack of sleep, consumed chemicals and heady mix of emotional instability had driven me to a bad bout of self-harm and suicidal feelings. It reminded me of how much I owe that friend, who I now rarely see. She’s amongst those that I felt I leant too hard on and am too ashamed to attempt to reconnect with and put the friendship back where it was. But I’ve enjoyed reading them and seeing the wisdom that my 19-year-old self was far from ready to embrace.

The most fascinating item (in every sense) was one of the last, a case study written by my therapist. A case study about a former client he’d worked with a number of years ago whilst working in a therapeutic community. How we’d worked with the client to make changes in her life that enabled her to move her life onto a better place. How he’d been with her and supported her even when that came to late night hospital visits and self-harm episodes.

This case study made a big impact in a range of different ways. Firstly, I was impressed, as I always am, with the work he does, the hugely and positive impact he can bring to bear on someone’s life. I wished I could ever do something that valuable for another person and reminded myself how lucky I am to be working with my therapist.

I also recognised why he’d shared this one with me. We’ve been doing a fair bit of talking about closing escape hatches. I said long ago that I would never knowingly cause harm to another person but have been unable to commit to not harming myself or not ‘check out’ and go mad. I’ve known for some this that this work is something that my therapist feels is important but something that I have avoided. I’ve known that, up to this point, I would have been making an empty promise which isn’t my style.

The idea of seeing beyond today or this week is so often a struggle that making some kind of commitment to a ‘long term’ has just felt unfeasible for so long. But I know that I need this to change - I know there are things I need to tackle and that, before I can face them head on, I need to know that I have the response behaviours under control.

However, the case study also allowed me an opportunity to indulge in my favourite hobby – a wade in self-pity. What my therapist hadn’t known when he left the case study with me before his break that in the week between leaving it with me and my reading it I too was to spend an evening and most of the night in A&E but I was alone. Alone and scared and longing for someone safe to be there with me. I felt very sorry for myself that I continued to face this shit alone and that ultimately I’ll always be on my own. I have many people in my life who love me and who would be by my side if I asked them but I’ve always been wired in such a way that means I’ve hidden this part of myself so deeply from the people who care about me that I’ve forced myself to tackle the consequences alone.

But that’s the point isn’t it. It’s a choice I continue to make about the behaviours I have, about the help I refuse to fully accept, the changes I decide not to action and the beliefs about myself that I hold back from challenging; the vile and destructive rhetoric about myself that I carry on reciting and the future me I discount as an impossibility.

The box of envelopes (poems, stones, books and case studies included) along with my attempts to believe I matter to other people and the ongoing efforts of my very patient therapist to reinforce that I can make different decisions continues to challenge me to reconsider the possibility of change and a future. It’s my choice and that’s the really scary bit.