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juushikaI was reminded today that I haven't spoken on self-harm in a long time. (Well that comes out of the blue, yes?) I haven't mentioned the topic because for a while now, it hasn't been an active issue in my life. But let me back up for a moment, because for a while now I've been meaning to summarize my history with self-harm.
When I was in middle school, I used to eat only one meal a day, depriving myself most when I was behind on my homework. In high school I started sleeping three hours a night, taxing my body as a way to punish myself. I started scratching myself repetitively when stressed; not long after I began cutting my legs with scissors. As I began college my sleep was still a mess and I would go days in a row without food, but cutting was my most visible problem, growing increasingly worse alongside my depression. By my third year of college, cutting became largely ineffective, and instead of opting to cut myself deeper I opted to give up on it as a coping mechanism. It was an infrequent occurrence after that, but it was still the solution to spring to my thoughts when I was stressed. It's been about two years now since I stopped cutting on even a semi-regular basis. But let's be clear: I still self-harm. I've cut myself in the intervening time; I sometimes hit myself to bruising.
I may never stop completely, and even if I do the thought of it will never leave me. Self-harm is an addiction. For many people, it grows less effective over time, and you need more and worse to get the same effects. For many people, the impulse remains indefinitely—even if it's just a ghost in the back of the mind, it's there: a thought, a reminder, that pain works. And it does.
Self-injury is primarily a symptom, not a disease. I suffer from a couple of mental illnesses, but it's my depression that fed my self-harm. I have two types: clinical depression, which exhibits in periods of severe depression, and dysthymia, a chronic low-grade depression which means my default mental state is more depressed than the average person's. Depression is the mind's betrayal: joy and motivation die and the mind becomes trapped in an endless, hopeless present which is miserable and dark and will never change. The mind betrays the body, making it despondent and lethargic, leaving it tearful or staring aimlessly at walls. At least that's how it can be for me, in the worst of my major depressive cycles. Those are my diseases, my causes.
For a long time, self-harm was the closest thing I knew to a cure. People hurt themselves for all number of reasons. I did it because physical pain was a replacement for the physical pleasure deadened by depression, because the shock of pain sometimes lifted me out of my disassociation, because it was an outlet for the anger that I felt at my body and mind betraying me, because it was a way to punish myself and I believed I deserved it, because it was a way of taking back control that I'd lost to my broken brain, because it was a way of making my pain visible—primarily to myself, because even I believed it was "only in my head." And for all of that, cutting worked. It made me feel better. Therapists were helpful, medication was a mixed bag, but cutting worked. At least, it worked until it stopped working: as with most addictions the body needs more and more to render the same results, and I eventually lost my nerve for that.
In reality, I never hurt myself that badly. I'm still marked with scars and one or two wounds should have had stitches, but I never did myself significant physical damage. My depression has been fairly severe over the years, but my issues with self-harm were comparably minor.
But the thing is: That doesn't matter. It could have been worse, but that doesn't matter. Because what self-harm is is a symptom, and it points to an underlying issue with is valid, true, and real. For me, it was depression. For others it may be other disorders, other traumas. They are all real.
This is why I'm no longer so concerned with my self-harm. It worries me when I fall back to it because it indicates that my dysthymia and (moreso these days) anxieties are still present. But I haven't had a major depressive cycle in—well, about two years. Agoraphobia is no picnic, anxiety drives me batty, but I am safe and unpressured and cared for now, I am in a situation where I no longer cycle down into mind-numbing, body-stopping depression every six months. That was the real problem, that was what caused my cutting, and now I'm scissors-free.
The ghost of it lingers and the scars don't show signs of fading, but as long as I have my depression more or less under control, I am content.
This is part personal history and part public service announcement. It's been surprisingly unemotional to write, mostly because I am at peace with all of it now. But this topic will always be a part of my heart and as such, I am always willing to discuss it. Seriously. Poke me out of the blue to talk about self-injury concerns or to ask what the experience was like for me, and I will be happy to talk about it all. Or comment here, even! But if I can put one thing out there for everyone to read it is this: See self-injury for what it is. It's not shameful, it's not over-dramatic, it's not even the biggest problem. It is a valid, real symptom which indicates a valid, real issue somewhere behind it. It is pain, indicating pain.
And that's all. It's not something for angsty teens, not something that's only meaningful if it leaves a certain number of scars, not something that should be closeted away or met with despair. It is a painful symptom. It needs the same treatment that you'd give a stabbing pain in your knee: an investigation to try to determine its source.
Treating that underlying source, now that's a different kettle of fish and a different (no doubt far-off) post. And because self-injury is addictive, it can be a troublesome habit to kick and may never truly disappear. Be safe, be careful, and remember that confronting with the root cause is always the biggest, most effective step you can take.
If you are, were, or may be a self-harmer, I send you my undying love. Whether we're strangers or close friends, we are siblings of the heart in this matter and so I send mine to you. It you know a self-harmer, I send my support and gratitude. It can be a scary thing to see, but your willingness to accept it for precisely what it is can make a world of difference.
When I was in middle school, I used to eat only one meal a day, depriving myself most when I was behind on my homework. In high school I started sleeping three hours a night, taxing my body as a way to punish myself. I started scratching myself repetitively when stressed; not long after I began cutting my legs with scissors. As I began college my sleep was still a mess and I would go days in a row without food, but cutting was my most visible problem, growing increasingly worse alongside my depression. By my third year of college, cutting became largely ineffective, and instead of opting to cut myself deeper I opted to give up on it as a coping mechanism. It was an infrequent occurrence after that, but it was still the solution to spring to my thoughts when I was stressed. It's been about two years now since I stopped cutting on even a semi-regular basis. But let's be clear: I still self-harm. I've cut myself in the intervening time; I sometimes hit myself to bruising.
I may never stop completely, and even if I do the thought of it will never leave me. Self-harm is an addiction. For many people, it grows less effective over time, and you need more and worse to get the same effects. For many people, the impulse remains indefinitely—even if it's just a ghost in the back of the mind, it's there: a thought, a reminder, that pain works. And it does.
Self-injury is primarily a symptom, not a disease. I suffer from a couple of mental illnesses, but it's my depression that fed my self-harm. I have two types: clinical depression, which exhibits in periods of severe depression, and dysthymia, a chronic low-grade depression which means my default mental state is more depressed than the average person's. Depression is the mind's betrayal: joy and motivation die and the mind becomes trapped in an endless, hopeless present which is miserable and dark and will never change. The mind betrays the body, making it despondent and lethargic, leaving it tearful or staring aimlessly at walls. At least that's how it can be for me, in the worst of my major depressive cycles. Those are my diseases, my causes.
For a long time, self-harm was the closest thing I knew to a cure. People hurt themselves for all number of reasons. I did it because physical pain was a replacement for the physical pleasure deadened by depression, because the shock of pain sometimes lifted me out of my disassociation, because it was an outlet for the anger that I felt at my body and mind betraying me, because it was a way to punish myself and I believed I deserved it, because it was a way of taking back control that I'd lost to my broken brain, because it was a way of making my pain visible—primarily to myself, because even I believed it was "only in my head." And for all of that, cutting worked. It made me feel better. Therapists were helpful, medication was a mixed bag, but cutting worked. At least, it worked until it stopped working: as with most addictions the body needs more and more to render the same results, and I eventually lost my nerve for that.
In reality, I never hurt myself that badly. I'm still marked with scars and one or two wounds should have had stitches, but I never did myself significant physical damage. My depression has been fairly severe over the years, but my issues with self-harm were comparably minor.
But the thing is: That doesn't matter. It could have been worse, but that doesn't matter. Because what self-harm is is a symptom, and it points to an underlying issue with is valid, true, and real. For me, it was depression. For others it may be other disorders, other traumas. They are all real.
This is why I'm no longer so concerned with my self-harm. It worries me when I fall back to it because it indicates that my dysthymia and (moreso these days) anxieties are still present. But I haven't had a major depressive cycle in—well, about two years. Agoraphobia is no picnic, anxiety drives me batty, but I am safe and unpressured and cared for now, I am in a situation where I no longer cycle down into mind-numbing, body-stopping depression every six months. That was the real problem, that was what caused my cutting, and now I'm scissors-free.
The ghost of it lingers and the scars don't show signs of fading, but as long as I have my depression more or less under control, I am content.
This is part personal history and part public service announcement. It's been surprisingly unemotional to write, mostly because I am at peace with all of it now. But this topic will always be a part of my heart and as such, I am always willing to discuss it. Seriously. Poke me out of the blue to talk about self-injury concerns or to ask what the experience was like for me, and I will be happy to talk about it all. Or comment here, even! But if I can put one thing out there for everyone to read it is this: See self-injury for what it is. It's not shameful, it's not over-dramatic, it's not even the biggest problem. It is a valid, real symptom which indicates a valid, real issue somewhere behind it. It is pain, indicating pain.
And that's all. It's not something for angsty teens, not something that's only meaningful if it leaves a certain number of scars, not something that should be closeted away or met with despair. It is a painful symptom. It needs the same treatment that you'd give a stabbing pain in your knee: an investigation to try to determine its source.
Treating that underlying source, now that's a different kettle of fish and a different (no doubt far-off) post. And because self-injury is addictive, it can be a troublesome habit to kick and may never truly disappear. Be safe, be careful, and remember that confronting with the root cause is always the biggest, most effective step you can take.
If you are, were, or may be a self-harmer, I send you my undying love. Whether we're strangers or close friends, we are siblings of the heart in this matter and so I send mine to you. It you know a self-harmer, I send my support and gratitude. It can be a scary thing to see, but your willingness to accept it for precisely what it is can make a world of difference.
