I Made My Bed...

But now I want to get up.

I was so little when I started deliberately hurting myself.  So little.  And stopping... stopping was honestly the most effort I have ever had to put forth to follow through on a decision.

And it was worth every drop of sweat and every tortured moment.

I have not and will not, ever, choose to go back down that road.  Because when I was five, maybe I didn't have a choie.  Maybe then, because of my youth, I was without other options.

But now, I do have a choice.

I also have a large skin graft on my leg that has broken down and degraded and ulcerated.  There isn't a solid explaination.  And the question has been raised - did I do this to myself?  And more importantly, did I do so deliberately?

And my answer... doesn't seem to matter.  No.  I didn't do anything to harm myself.  Well, I have stubbed my toes a few times lately, and I've pulled a couple muscles working out.  But nothing deliberate.  There are so many ways I could try to argue, so many things I could try to do to prove myself, but... what is the point of doing that?  Would it actually convince anyone of ANYthing?  I don't think it would.

The only thing I can do is trust the truth to be revealed - whatever that is.  Something has to have caused this.  My prayer is that someone, somewhere, figures out what.  And that somehow, someone can stop it from happening again.  I don't really care who or how or what... just as long as my leg can heal. 

And I can't even earnestly and genuinely insist that they are all completely off their rockers.  They are wrong, yes.  But they wouldn't be thinking along these lines in the first place if I had never had those problems.

They are just doing their jobs.

That's what I tell myself when they ask and I breathe deeply and fight to uncurl my fist and everything ni me wants to scream and yell and pitch a fit.

What is happening now, is not my fault.

But the questions it is raising, they probably ARE.