Self-harm - Why?
I used to self-harm a lot. A lot. Not that many years ago. At the time I was not able to articulate why I did it – I knew why but couldn’t find the words to describe it to others.
Now I think I can finally explain why.
The number one reason was (this may surprise you) love:
It made me feel love for myself
I would treat the injuries like a mother might
It was secure love
It would never abandon me like a human could
It could never be taken away from me or destroyed by anyone
It maintained a (toxic) connection to the most significant person in my childhood (who was abusive but also cared for me when I was sick), who I still love
My understanding was that Pain = Love. Cruelty = Love
Self-harm was a visual and tactile memory of love
Other reasons for self-harming included:
To release the tears stuck inside me
To cope with feelings of
Fear
Hyper-arousal
Being physically trapped (e.g., in a hospital)
Rage turned on myself
Self-hatred for feeling that I was not good enough
Because I couldn’t get back at the people who had abused me
Because physical pain took my mind off my emotional pain
Physical pain was easier to do something about - to ‘cure’
To try to make myself dissociate so that I would not be in emotional distress
To remind myself that the trauma I had experienced was significant and real: “I am not going on about nothing”
The pain of it temporarily ‘erased’ the sensation of the invisible hands that I sometimes felt on my skin during flashbacks
It was encouraged by survivors in some abuse support groups I was involved in
Self-harm was contagious, expected and accepted (normal). And sometimes glorified
It was a re-creation of the little cuts another person made on my arms as a child
A desperate effort to process the abuse
A wordless way of asking for help
I couldn’t articulate what was happening in my head so self-harm spoke for me
There was no particular ritual to it:
I kept razor blades handy in the same way that some people keep Panadol in their handbag
I sometimes just slashed myself once and then stopped. Other times I kept harming myself until I ran out of skin
Sometimes I dissociated, other times I cried
It changed me and it changed my future:
It made me a liar as I often tried to hide or explain away injuries out of fear of hospitalisation
I was paranoid about being forcibly admitted into a hospital as a psychiatric patient
Accidental injuries are still often assumed to be due to self-harm because I have a history of it
Guilty until proven innocent (IF I can prove it)
The scars raise questions that sometimes I do not want to answer
It was a short-term fix. Long term it has magnified the impact of abuse
Every day when I look at the scars I feel naked, raw, and the shame I felt as a child
It was not always possible to distract myself so that I didn’t do it. Counselling does not miraculously heal.
Self-harm was not something I could suddenly turn over a new leaf on and just stop.
I stopped when I finally injured myself enough to shock even me.
But did I ever really stop?
I still feel the urge sometimes.
That is why I run a fingernail down my leg occasionally – viciously.
An automatic action.
Perhaps for me, it will always be there as an option for when I cannot find my words.
Originally written September, 2019; modified March, 2020