No Regrets

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?

Hell, no.

Do I regret it?

It remains to be seen.

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