Not Ashamed: Self Harming

If you haven't already, please read the introduction post. That will give you context for this page.

(Trigger warning: self harm, depression)

Like last week, I'm going to try to keep this shorter.

I know I'm not the only one whose self harm behaviours (or at least the demons in my head that wail for them) can be triggered by reading about others' behaviours.

Sometimes, it was a drawn out loathing that pushed me. Purposeful. Others, it was a sudden burst. What I did varied based on which it was.

Anger is a secondary emotion, one that masks more vulnerable things. So, when I say that it was often something that felt like anger that drove me...It would more accurately be described as severe disappointment in myself, frustration with myself, self-loathing, self-disgust...

I was good at hiding it. I had good excuses and I favoured clothes that covered me completely and loads of jewellery. And I'm pretty confident that, whilst adults might have expected it just because I wore black, none of them actually knew or had reason to believe beyond going in for stereotypes. (For the record, oh you stereotypers, there were plenty of people who looked like me and didn't self-harm. So, please check yourself.)

I'm also very lucky that I have always felt sensitive, skin-wise, because it meant I was constantly moisturising. Unless you undress me, even now when I happily wear less complete coverage, you won't find scars. (I mean, you will find scars, but not from the self harm. Even the one you'll think is from that was done to me by someone else, but that's another story.)

I don't want to talk about what I did. But I think, given the stereotypes, I want to talk about what it did for me. I didn't do it for attention (which is why I covered it up). But it felt like an escape hatch, like it let things out of me that were too much for me to keep carrying. Like it was punishment I inflicted on myself because I deserved it. Like, with everyone and everything else hating me, this was me proving that I was the one who got to hurt me and that I could hurt me more than anyone else.

And I feel like I also want to clarify that none of my friends encouraged the behaviour. Their responses ranged from just quietly accepting that I did it to voicing their concerns. Just in case some of you are thinking stereotype thoughts about my friends as well.

It's been years now. For a while, I felt horrible after I did it. Not immediately, but the next day. And then I got a bit worried the last spate of it because I didn't feel at all bad about it after. I worried that the only thing that could stop me would be if I felt ashamed. But that didn't really happen.

So, here I am...not advocating self harm, hoping you don't do it, but understanding if you do. And years "clean" of it (I won't say how many because that's a bit too personal). But not ashamed that I did it. I understand why I did and I feel sad for the parts of me that crave that.

Put down your instruments of self-harm, my darlings. Wear your sleeves short and your head high. And when the urges come to put marks on yourself, put marks on paper instead.
xxx