Today, a social worker asked me if I regret what I did.
I’ve always struggled with the idea of regret. I look at my arms with a feeling of true sadness. I wonder what they’ll look like when I’m old. I wonder what I will tell my children about them. I regret the pain and the fear they have caused others.
But do I regret the self-harm?
When I was fifteen, because of my hurting, one of my favourite teachers took me to Lourdes with her group. I still remember that as one of my best experiences. If I had never hurt myself, it is an experience I never would have had. Given the choice again, and knowing what I know now: hurt yourself and you’ll have a great time away– I would not ever choose to hurt myself again. I know that. I also know that, without the self-harm, my life would have been different- and not necessarily better. There are experiences I might never have had, places I might never have gone to, people I might never have met, or related to in the same way. I can only choose to be grateful for those experiences, rather than regretful of what I can’t change.
As to this latest act of drunken stupidity, I have little idea what has been gained by having to wander around on crutches for nearly three months. If anything, I have lost out.
Would I do it again?
Do I regret it?
It remains to be seen.