A few years later, when it became apparent that I had started self-harming and that I was suffering from severe depression, — or a borderline personality disorder as the doctors called it — mum let it out that there had been schizophrenia on my father's side of the family. After I heard this, I started to fear that I might be schizophrenic too. The illness is known to run in families, and sometimes I felt like I was not a part of this world, that I was floating somewhere else. I still float off at times, but first I get numb. It's like I'm dead, and I hate myself, and then the only way I can feel happy is by digging deeply with razors or bits of broken glass. I slice my arms, my inner thighs, my stomach. It's gotten worse over the years, but bliss comes by letting blood. Then, I am euphoric. I am free.
I did speak to my psychiatrist at that time though, and I asked her what the likelihood was that I might be schizophrenic. She assured me that I didn't suffer from such illness. She said my depression and self-harming were linked to the abuse I had suffered at the hands of Johnny Jameson.
The Search For Self
