Let's Talk Self-Harm

This instalment of my "Let's Talk" series will feature images that may be unsetting to some. 

I'd like to get this out of the way to avoid the usual bullshit that comes along with blogs of 

this nature. This isn't attention seeking or a look at me moment. I've done this blog as a way

to discuss an often taboo and stigmatised topic. This form of self-harm, self-mutilation or self-injury is the most common and its seen in a large group of mental illnesses, not just depression or bipolar depression. Self-harm numbers are on the rise in the younger generation and they need to see the seriousness that cutting is. Often people who engage in these behaviours feel shamed, alone, isolated, humiliated or a combination of these feelings. It's important for people to see the consequences of these actions and see how the behaviour can escalate to dangerous levels.  In the other instalments that I plan on doing, I will talk about other forms of self-harm and go into details regarding my own experiences. 

I've discussed my decent into self-harm in an earlier blog so I'm not going to discuss that here. It was unexpected. I really didn't know what I was doing. I didn't understand what was going on in my head emotionally and neurochemically. I was a child wanting to test a theory I'd read about. I didn't think it was anything serious. I'd gotten lots of cuts before, ones I'd inflected riding my bike, playing outside or fooling around. How could this be any different? In reality, it couldn't be more different. A glass shard became my best friend. It was easy enough to get hold of, it could do what I wanted. The first time I cut myself with a piece of glass it was rather anti-climatic. It felt exciting, but it also wasn't a rush or anything. I knew I was doing something out of the norm, but I didn't think about what would happen after that moment. I didn't say to myself "I love this, I'm going to do this again and again." I felt better after doing it, but I didn't understand why. Was it I just broken a taboo? Was it because I'd just done something that the "big kids" had talked about? I didn't know about serotonin, endorphins or really even began to understand what depression was. I wasn't sure what was going on inside me, I just knew that I felt like shit. Earlier feelings of self-loathing magnified, self-disgust was infused in every waking moment. I'd lived so many years-as a child no less- believing this was normal. That everybody felt this way. I was too scared to talk to my parents about this. I didn't want them to hate me too. I felt like they already didn't like me that much anyway and I didn't need to risk losing food, shelter and clothing. To this day, I've never had a conversation about mental health with my family. They don't care. They don't understand. They don't want to. I don't need their self-righteous bullshit, claims that mental health is just a way to get attention or that I'm some sort of lower grade person to them. I have no room in my life for their ignorance and bigotry.

People never talk about how addicting this is. People never talk about how this is a compulsion. For some its one, for some, it's the other. For me, it's both, depending on what mood I'm in. When I'm depressed, it's something that I want to do to feel better, sometimes I'm convinced that it's the only thing I can do to feel better. It feels as if it's the only thing I can control; I certainly can't control the feelings that I'm better off dead or that I'm disgusting and hideous. I focus on it. I focus on how I'm going to feel when I'm done. It's never just one cut. It's never just three. It's at least 6 or 7 before I start to feel a little better. The need to inflict more lines, deeper lines to get the same rush sets in and I have to pull back a little. There have been times when I've lost complete control. It's a frenzy of scalpels and razor blades, blood splashing me, my desk and my carpet. You need a bigger and better fix as you descend into the world of self-harm. It's a full-blown addiction. You're chasing the high the cuts give you; chasing the relief the cuts give you. You crave the serenity that floods the body and brain after inflection. 

You might be wondering why I have all these photos to share on here. You might be saying "Why would you take photos of your self-mutilation if you didn't want attention?" It's simple. I'm a collector. I catalogue, almost compulsively. I keep photos of events, even parts of my everyday life. I have trouble remembering moments that are stressful, as so many people. I need to know that it really happened. I need to see what I've done. Taking photos of the cuts are a way to make them real. It's to show me that it wasn't all just in my head. I didn't imagine it. The scars aren't enough of a reminder. And not all of the cuts scar. When you cut over scar tissue after a while, it all blends into one big mess of purplish or pink then white. Under my clothes, my skin is pale and in other photos, you'll be able to see the scars under the fresh cuts. The skin behaves differently. I need to see the blood. It's so calming and centring for me. It provides a relief for me. Seeing it isn't the same as feeling the blood leak out of fresh cuts, or feeling it on my skin. Somedays that's all I can do to relive the moments when I can't actually get to a blade. It's emersion in the moment. It's part of a way for me to have fulfilment that I need, something to sustain me in times of stress, depression or distraction. It's a way for me to control the urge I have to cut myself.

The cuts aren't always inflicted in sadness. Sometimes there's an anger at myself that I struggle to control and the self-harm is a way for me to punish my body. I need to work out my frustrations on myself in any way that I can and that's one of the ways. I feel so overwhelmed with all the hate that I feel towards myself for so many different reasons and I just need to get it out so I cut myself. There are other things that I do but we'll save those for another blog. It sometimes feels like it's the only thing that I can do. I want to cut away the things that I don't like about myself. The pain makes me feel human again. Looking at the cuts, I feel calmer. I'm whole again for the smallest amount of time. Pain is normal for me. I know I'm hardwired to self-abuse based on how I was brought up and my mental illnesses. It's something that I need to learn to express in other ways, ways that are less destructive to my body and my life. 

Nothing is off limits. My entire body is up for grabs- well the spots around my tattoos. I don't want to damage them. Well, I have damaged one of them in the pursuit of my suicidal and non-suicidal cutting adventures. I progressed from the upper arms down to the forearms. From the forearms I moved to the thighs, from the thighs I moved to my chest and then from the chest, I moved to my throat/neck area. I've become consumed with self-harm. I'm always careful when I do it, well as careful as one can be. In the times when I have control, I focus, I know my tool, I know my body. I know the maps of my veins and arteries. The blade dances in and out of my skin, flooding me with euphoria. Sometimes it's even arousing. It's not just the wounds, but the sight of the blood and the joy that I feel. It's unspeakable the way that it feels. Nothing else can quite compare to it. It speaks of untold passion and beauty.



I'm at a point in my life where cutting is normal for me. I wouldn't say that it's a part of my everyday life, but it's a large part of who I am, how I focus on things and how I handle myself in times of stress, sadness or sometimes even joy. I don't know how to break the cycle of addiction with it. I'm not sure that I want to. It's something that has been with me for over the majority of my life. I'm scared to lose it, but I don't want to be all cut up and oozing all the time. I don't want to deal with the disgusting look that others give me when they see the scars or the fresh cuts. It's a constant struggle and I think it will be for the rest of my life. 

I'm writing this blog to encourage others to talk about their self-destructive behaviours; not just cutting. There is so much stigma around self-harm. It's often considered to be the release of teenage girls, the severely mentally ill or those who seek attention, all of those couldn't be farther from the truth. Anyone can self-harm. Self-harm doesn't care about a person's age, gender, sexual orientation, race, economic status or career. It affects everyone equally. Talking about it openly and honestly can help reduce the stigma and help those in need.