Well, I was just thinking about self-mutilatory behavior. Okay I was confronted with the idea that self-mutilation was consistent with the idea of suicide. Well, I refute this statement, I think. My idea of suicide attempts is pills, not sharp, shiny objects. My idea of sharp shiny objects is punishment. When I self-mutilate it is a form of punishment and cathartic behavior. When I am hurting on the inside I make it hurt on the outside instead. The only problem..It doesnt hurt me. I can seemingly convince the centers of my brain, where pain originates from to not hurt. It is actually a feeling of relief...or maybe even enjoyment....not a masochistic sort of thing, but a control factor.
It is pretty scary to think that I can manipulate my
body. Sometimes I get really scared at my potential for
self abuse. I have scars that will probably last forever.
I someday will have to explain them. I already do to a
point, but those that no one else can see will be the hard
ones.....TWW
I guess it all started with my parents. My parents
dispised me from day one and still do for no discernable
reason. My dad used to beat the shit out of me on a
regular basis, often breaking bones and leaving scars.
Often they wouldnt speak to me or acknowledge me for months
at a time. No one cared, no one was there to care, I was
alone in the world...so I grew up frustrated and confused,
angry and abandoned.
One day, I dont remember how old I was (pretty young) I
cut myself on some glass I was messing with. I looked at
the cut curiously...it didnt hurt. In fact, it was a
curiously exciting sensation watching the blood seep slowly
from my palm, and seeing it hit the dirt in fat drops of
red...I felt alive, I knew I was human! All my life my
parents had made me feel like an animal, like a
monster...some sort of abherration...they hated me...but
here was something that proved to me I was human, I was a
real person. The pain they inflicted no longer hurt quite
as much because I knew I was alive...I began to cut myself
regularly to feel the high, like a pure drug, through my
body. I graduated to burning and other methods...if it
drew lots of pain, I tried it. I got sent to an asylum.
Twice.
I ran away at the age of 15. I lived on the streets
for a while..angry at the world, angry at myself, angry at
everything. The self mutilation was my friend..we kept
each other company..I also developed a drug habit to deny
reality in conjunction with the mutilation. I managed to
always keep my cutting and burning a secret...didnt want
them to think I as crazy and lock me up anymore.."no one
understands"..they will separate me from my only sources of
escape from my life, the only ways to make sure I was alive
still.
My drug habit got steadily worse as well did my self
abuse habit...Was in and out of prisons and mental
institutions. Everytime I got arrested, they found me
covered in cuts and burns, filthy and angry, so they sent
me to another institution. The shrinks there couldnt help
me, they didnt understand what it was, nor did they
try..just prescribed medications and hoped it would go
away...even had Electro-shock therapy once(most horrible
event in my entire life); went in and out of rehab as well.
During my brief periods of being clean, I also
managed to delay the need to cut or burn myself. I dont
know why this is, but it happened every time...I just didnt
feel a need to cut for a while..but it always came back..I
would suddenly get the urge to cut myself and the urge was
great.."why fight it?"..so I did it.
Met a woman and fell in love. Managed to almost get
my life in order. It was wonderful. I was 21, found
someone who loved me and who I loved.. I had no more urges
to cut or burn..she was a junky too, so my habit got
deeper. Everything was going well, actually (well,
relatively well, all things considered). We got a place
together, and started being responsible, at least it seemed
so. She got pregnant, everything was going good for me, was
gonna have a child, I had a woman who loved me and who I
loved, had an apartment..wow..things were sweet. I hadnt
had the urge to cut myself in a long time..it seemed the
urge had gone away completely with the advent of my being
happy for the first time in my life. Even had plans to get
married.
I came home one day to a quiet apt. Not a sound. I
went into the bedroom and saw she was in the bath sleeping.
I quietly go into the bathroom and fell to my knees. She
wasnt sleeping, she was dead. Even now as I say this I
feel the tears. She had comitted suicide for no reason..no
note, nothing. So in the span of a few minutes, my entire
life was destroyed..I lost my child, and her mother who I
loved so dear. I dont know who called the police, but it
took them 10 hours to get me to let go of her...and even
then I fought to get back.
I couldnt cope anymore. After the funeral, I
couldnt deal with reality any longer. I kept hearing her
voice and feeling her body..kept thinking of the dead
child. I went home, smashed everything, burned it, and
left.
I roamed around and in the process revived my old friend of
self mutilation. I kept going farther and farther with it,
taking off strips of skin sometimes, the pain dulled by the
drugs I was on. I couldnt cope with anything, so I just
kept roaming the US.
I OD'd one last time and came VERY close to death.
I decided i had had enough of it all. I stick to rehab and
clean myself up. I am 23.
I went back to where my family was. Dont ask me why, I
guess I still had illusions of parents loving me someday.
Always there, was the self-abuse, keeping me sane through
the whole thing, letting me know I AM alive, but mostly, at
this point, it was just small cuts here and there, a stab
or two, a burn..nothing too serious, and always kept a
secret from anyone. It has kept me alive quite a few
times, by allowing me to vent all my frustrations and pain
through a slash in my skin.
I no longer do it, having just stopped just
recently(within the last few months). The urge just went
away, I found things to focus on and to redirect my
energies. Perhaps I will start again, whos to say? Some
things never leave you.....~M.
I have just written this off the top of my head. I thought that perhaps writing it down after talking to my counsellor last week would help me to keep focussing on thinking of SI as something that it's ok to think about, but not to be so scared that I keep all my fears inside me which makes it worse.
When?
What question could have the answers:
When I feel numb
When I feel overwhelmed with feelings
When I feel depressed and helpless
When I feel really good and full of life
When I feel angry
When I feel peaceful
Many people would probably tell me that there can't be one question which is answered by all of the statements above. Yet there is for me. It's a question that I never addressed myself, but have been asked it a few times over the last year. The question is "When do you feel the need to harm yourself?" It was impossible to answer at first, yet I had been doing it for over ten years then. I also felt that I wouldn't be taken seriously if I could answer one question with so many contrasting answers. Yet through research, 'chat' on the internet, and self-analysis I have realised that these are only some of the answers to the question.
I have only a vague idea of when it started, but over time I realised that for someone like me in whom feelings built up very quickly but who couldn't say how she felt easily it was a good coping strategy. I have never been proud of it, and realised that others weren't doing it. It wasn't suicidal, my experiences of trying that tell me what the difference are. It just helped.
I didn't know anyone else did it until a year or so ago. While feeling very low I was recommended to see my family doctor. She talked to me about my feelings and then asked if I'd ever hurt myself deliberately. At the time, I had the worst self-inflicted injury that I had had until that point on my arm. Two days previously I had burnt my arm with a candle flame. I had moved on from cutting with knives and glass. Two weeks after that I moved house and changed doctors. My new doctor read my medical records. She asked to see my arm, and touched the healing wound. That made me feel so less scared and comforted. All of this seemed like a headlong rush into admission after ten years of secrecy. I was working as a secondary school teacher and had wanted to admit to SI in some ways for a while, but was scared of the conflict with my job. I thought that admitting to it would make me stop. It hasn't, and some of my worst experiences of SI have come in the last year. I even managed it while in hospital after taking an OD.
I eventually admitted to it at work as I couldn't teach certain topics (safety in the home etc) without them having a triggering effect. The only way I could get out of it was to be honest about my reasons. The senior colleague I told was very understanding. The headteacher was quite understanding, though a little too blunt with her questions. I was asked recently, 'have you managed to cut yourself less?' Before 'coming out' I said, this is something that I have been doing for the last ten years, three of which you have known me for, so it shouldn't change who you think I am, you will just know more about me. I have only told one close friend apart from that.
I struggle with thoughts of SI on an almost daily basis. Now I have a name for it though and know that others do it. I have managed to talk to my counsellor about it. I usually find that doctors, therapists, psychiatrists don't talk about it. I cried when I talked about it, but it helped to admit that I still do it, that it scares me, that it helps me. I have found it easier to admit to feeling suicidal than to wanting to harm myself. I have fought the temptation sometimes, and given in to it sometimes as well. My hands and arms are becoming more and more scarred and I feel that it is becoming more and more obvious and I hope that this will make me stop.
~P
This isn't really a journal entry, but I just kinda wanted to put my thoughts
out there to see if it would make and difference or make me feel better, k
um, well I don't really know how to start out or anything but ...........
I guess the first time I started was when I was like in 2nd grade or
something. I didn't get it then but just a year ago I rememberd that I had
first hurt myself a long time ago, and I didn't really put 2 and 2 together.
It was when I had just switched to a new school, I was really pissed and sad
about leaving all my friends behind, so we were in our little class meeting
thing or something like that, and the teacher was just talking about like,
what we were going to do.
I wasnt really listening, I was thinking about how much I hated this new
school and how I was all pissed and hated all the kids and I guess all of it
kinda built up and I started rubbing my wrist against the carpet, it was kind
of a little high cuz it made me feel better, I kept doing it until it just
hurt so bad.
I went home and my mom saw it and asked what happend, she got all freaked
out, and I didn't really get it until now, like why she was so scared.
I was like 7 or 8 (or however old kids are when they are in 2nd grade) , and
now im in 9th grade, I started about a year ago when I saw that my friend had a cut on her arm.
I wasnt sure if it was from her, or just like a random cut, but I started
thinking about how easy it would be just to do it and see what happened, u
know.
It was also because I recently found out all this shit about my mom that
made her seem like such a stranger to me, I still havent told anyone, and I
dont think I ever will. till later at least. there were/are still too many
problems to list but uh ....so then one day when I was really sad, I couldn't go to sleep (I have insomnia) I was just sitting there crying and I
remembered.
I raised my wrist and just kind of dug into in with my nail. when it hurt, it
was kind of a relief sign, like 'wow, since I cant conrtol the pain on the inside, I can control the pain on the outside by hurting myself, and it
actually helped, in a weird way. its way too hard to explain, but if u have
the same kinds of problems, then ull get it.
after that, I went to school, and my (ex)friend (whos now such a bitch ,
shes told a big secret that no 1 was supposed to know - another one of my
problems, and a big factor, asked what happend, I
told her it was from my cat , I was in a way kind of glad that at least sum1
noticed, which I still think is kinda weird and another of my problems, like
sometimes I think maybe I do it for attension, but other times, I really dont....
but so then I just started to do it a lot, and way deeper, with a knife. I
told my friend that I had stopped, but told another friend that I was sad and needed help. He told me to just write. Write whatever comes to mind, and don't
stop. So, I wrote a really long email to myself; this helped me a lot, to
figure out why I was doing what I was doing, and to sort out my feelings..
a month later my dad hacked into my email and read
it. he talked to me about it and I told him, too that I had stopped.
I'm still doing it and only 3 people know. its getting a lot worse, and I'm not
even really sure if I want help, its an outlet for me and I dont wanna give that up and have nothing...the biggest thing thats helping me is my friends
who know, and who do care. one is trying to quit smoking and so hes like, ' o
well if I quit smoking, u gotta quit cutting' this helps to a certain degree,
but then when I cant help it, and I have to do it, it makes me feel worse,
like I'm letting all these people down.
I'm also really worried that my parents will find out again because, I've
already been to a therapist, and I hated it. They said that if they found out
that I was doing it again, I was going to have to go back there, which would seriously be hell.
so ......I dont know.. this is really long, and those of you that are still reading are probably bored, so go off and do whatever you want to do, but
if you are thinking about starting, don't. Once you start, it's so hard to stop. People are always like 'oh, just stop, if you dont want to keep hurting
urself this way' but its really just not that easy
~Anonymous
