I’ve known many people in my life. You wouldn’t know that now, of course, given the socially isolated state I find myself living in, but once upon a time I had several good friends, a dozen or so acquaintances and a plethora of random people who didn’t fit neatly into either category. I’ve known people who are mentally sound and those who battle mental illness on a daily basis. People who deal with depression, with BPD, bipolar, schizophrenia and ADHD. But amidst all those people, amidst all those wonderful, beautiful souls, I’ve only known three people who self-harm.
One, is my mother. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind you knowing that, given how fervently she believes mental illness should be talked about. Even though I know my mother has dealt with self harm, I’ve never had all that many conversations about her history with self harm. I don’t know when she started. I don’t know how long she self harmed. And I don’t have any idea what triggers her. I do know however that she has worked hard to get her self harming under control. I know how hard she’s worked to not given in to her urges. And I know how much she wants to remain self harm free. I’ve always admired my mother for her battles with self harm. She is one of the most inspiring people I know and is a source of tremendous strength in my own battles to remain self harm free.
The second person I’ve known who self harmed is Samantha. She didn’t do it all that frequently, but she did dabble (her word) with cutting, hitting and burning. It’s something that drew us together, something that cemented our friendship, and is one of the primary reasons she remains one of the most beautiful souls I’ve ever met. Her own dealings with self harm meant she never judged other people. About anything. Samantha just accepted people for who they were, warts and all. I don’t believe her self harm was solely responsible for this, I think it was just who she was as a person, but her desire not to be judged for her actions certainly inspired her own belief that you should never define a person by just one aspect of their personality.
Lastly, Grace admitted to me during an emotional phone conversation that she self harmed. Out of the blue one overcast weekday she called me in a panic; she was close to self harming and wanted someone to talk to, someone to distract her from her internal pain. Knowing that I myself had been in similar situations in the past I talked to her. I talked to her about the weather. About university. About her favourite Aussie Rules Football team. I talked to her about anything that popped into my head in order to stop her from retreating into hers. What I didn’t do was tell her about my history of self harm. At that juncture in my life I wasn’t ready to talk about it. I wasn’t ready to tell other people about my secret, painful activities. I’ve always had tremendous respect for the strength Grace displayed during that telephone call. To ask for help is difficult. To ask for help in a time of mental distress is nigh on impossible. Yet she fought her demons and made the call; she asked for help, and I like to believe I answered her call in the best way I could.
After the call I talked to Grace about self harm on several occasions, eventually finding the strength to tell her that I did it myself. Like Samantha, she never judged me. She knew what it was like to feel the cold steel of a knife against your flesh. She knew only too well how quickly darkness can descend over your mind.
I’ve always believed self harm should be talked about; that it should be discussed. And I’ve had conversations with all three people I’ve known through my life who self harm, about self harm. I’ve also had conversations with several other of the old friends and acquaintances I used to have about self harm. It is a subject that shouldn’t be shied away from. It is a subject of such seriousness that it deserves to be spoken about, at length.
So if you know anyone who self harms. Or even if you don’t. Never be ashamed to raise it in conversation. The more people who do, the better.
My normal, boring, monotonous routine was well and truly shaken up today, and my anxiety, which is already super-high, was well and truly challenged as a result.
After waking from a fitful sleep my morning began like any other; talk radio, internet and smoking. Rather than endlessly scour the news websites as I usually do, I decided to be a little more productive by writing a blog post. It wasn’t a great blog post, but was one I’d been considering writing for a week, and although it was tough to get my brain into gear, it felt good to be writing instead of mindlessly reading entertainment articles.
The reason it was hard to get my brain into gear was because I was contemplating this afternoon’s activity. Normally I would walk down the road, grocery shop, return home, watch a movie then listen to talk radio whilst surfing the internet. It’s my safety net. My normal, boring, monotonous routine. But today was different. Today I had an appointment.
A few months ago my support worker submitted an application for a program operated by a local gym. Named Open Doors, it provides gym membership for people who are experiencing hardship and/or mental health issues. It’s designed to get people active. It’s designed to get them moving. A few weeks ago my application was approved and I was granted a 3-month membership to their facility. In addition to full use of the gym, I also have access to the swimming pool, spa and whatever group classes I wish to participate in. And if I attend the gym 20 times over the next three months, I may be granted an additional 3-month membership. An incentive, of sorts, to maintain a healthy regime. Part of the program is an appointment with a personal trainer, who analyses your current exercise regime and suggests a work-out that would suit your particular needs. And today I had that appointment.
I’d known about the appointment for two weeks, and my anxiety has been extremely high as a result. I hate gyms at the best of times. All those gym bunnies with perfect pert bodies trigger my body image issues and, as a result, heighten my anxiety. I feel rotten in a gym. I feel inadequate. I feel worthless. I become obsessed with my appearance and despise pretty much everything about myself as a result. It would have been easy to cancel the appointment. To not show up. To just let the 3-month membership slowly expire. But I was determined to go because I’m determined to shake up my routine. I’m determined to increase my activity in an effort to make myself feel fitter and lose some of the weight Olanzapine has put on. So I strapped on my running shoes and walked the five kilometers to the leisure center where I waited patiently for my appointment.
It was – of course – with a woman. For those who missed it, I admitted earlier today that women scare me more than anything else. Especially uber-fit, toned and beautiful women. Which of course, being a fitness instructor, this woman was. But she was also nice. Which made me question not only my fear of women but also my anxiety surrounding the appointment. We started with a Q&A session about my current exercise routine before she took my blood pressure, questioned me on my medical background and worked out both my weight and height. I never weigh myself. My body image issues can’t handle it. So I was freaking out about getting on the scales. Freaking out about finding just how much weight I’ve put on. The last time I weighed myself was some two years ago at the GP, before Olanzapine piled on the pounds and turned me into the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. Back then, I was 100kg. Today, I expected to be at least 110kg, if not 120kg. Fortunately, and to my surprise, I was still 100kg. Which just goes to show that you can’t always trust your mind!
After the initial part of the appointment was over, she took me into the gym for a quick tour, before advising me on the best regime for my beginner status. I’m to start with 5mins on the treadmill, followed by squats, followed by planks, followed by sessions on several different weight machines. To finish, a simple five-minute cool down on the exercise bike. But I can always swap the bike and treadmill around, if I felt like it. It’s a pretty simple routine, and one I should be able to manage, as long as I can stomach hiking the 10km round trip to the leisure center three times a week; which is my work-out goal.
After being shown the routine she left me to my own devices and, as I was there, performed my first tour of the treadmill-weights-bike that is to be my routine over the coming weeks. It’s been some eighteen months since I was last in the gym and I’m sure I will feel it tomorrow, but it felt good to be being active again. It felt good to be strolling along the treadmill, it felt good to be performing my first ever plank and it felt good to be lifting weights and feeling the burn in my stomach and abs.
Whether or not I will stick to my Monday-Wednesday-Friday workout goal is yet to be seen. The only thing that will stop me will be anxiety and/or the walk to the leisure center. But I’m adamant I want the 3-month extension to the program, and to do that, I need to visit at least twenty times over the next three months. My current monotonous life shows how easily it is for me to exist within a routine, so all I need to do is challenge my anxiety, my body image issues, and alter my current routine into something different. It shouldn’t be too difficult – surely! And who knows, perhaps it will result in me meeting a gym bunny with a perfect pert body. A gym bunny who finds me undeniably sexy and can’t resist throwing herself upon me at any given opportunity…what? I’m not allowed to dream? ;)
By the time I walked home I was feeling quite proud of myself. Not only had I successfully altered my normal, boring, monotonous routine, I had successfully challenged my anxiety and prevented a panic attack. Not bad for one days work! It proves that no matter how hard something is, how scared you are of doing something, it is possible to get through it with little to no harm on your person. Challenge yourself. You might be surprised!
Distract yourself…
There are a myriad of ways that you can distract yourself when the urge to self harm arises. Simple activities, such as watching a movie or playing some songs that make you happy, may turn your attention away from whatever has triggered your urge. Other activities, such as colouring in, playing with play-dough, smelling essential oils, hugging a cuddly toy or spanking a pillow, are also excellent in distracting yourself from self harm urges. In fact, any activity that sparks the senses – sight, smell, touch, sound etc. – can work wonders when it comes to controlling your self harm desires.
Be creative…
One activity that I have used to control my self harm urges involves a red felt tip pen and your flesh. If you’re a cutter, which I am, instead of using a knife on your skin, use a red felt tip pen instead. Draw on your arm the cuts that you would otherwise have made. Perhaps instead of drawing the cuts, draw something fun and creative. I used to draw intricate patterns on my flesh, all of which distracted my mind away from my urges onto the act of creativity. This activity may work for you, it may not, but it’s worth trying all the same as anything is better than cutting.
Build a self harm safety box…
I don’t mean make a box from scratch with wood and the like, I mean take a shoe box or other cardboard container and fill it with things that you can use to distract yourself from self harm. Throw in some candy to enliven your taste buds. May I suggest popping candy, to give you a touch sensation in your mouth as you eat. How about throwing in your favourite cuddly toy, some Sudoku puzzles to get your brain working, a stress ball, bubbles or books. I have a movie or two in my safety box. I also have a notebook and colouring pens for doodling and drawing. My safety box contains all manner of items that I can turn to instead of self harming, so when the urge arises, I can turn to the box and find something to occupy myself with instead of turning to the knife to harm myself. In fact, I would highly recommend a safety box to anyone who battles with self harm urges.
Pamper yourself…
Instead of self harming, why not run yourself a nice soothing bath with all manner of bath salts and sweet-smelling bubbles? How about treating yourself to an epic shower – remember, the hot and cold of a shower can be a wonderful distraction – plus you have the added advantage of getting all squeaky clean at the same time. Or how about lathering yourself with scented body butter to soothe your skin and excite your senses. Instead of harming yourself, be nice to yourself, and you’ll find your self harm urges dissipating quicker than you can say “I’m awesome!”
Work out… Exercising releases endorphins. Endorphins relieve pain. Endorphins make you happy. So instead of harming yourself, head to the local gym and do an epic work out to get your endorphins rocking into action. You’d be amazed at how quickly you feel better when your body gets moving. If you don’t fancy heading to the gym, or can’t deal with being out in public, do some exercise at home. Squats. Planks. Sit-ups. They all help to release endorphins. They all help to make you feel better when life gets too much to handle.
…and two tips for someone who already has!
Remember first aid… My self harm kit contains first aid paraphernalia as well as knives and scissors. I have disinfectant, bandages, plasters, wipes, everything and anything that I think I might need to heal myself after the event. Personally I think this is a vital aspect of self harm. Sometimes the damage we inflict is not serious to warrant hospital intervention, sometimes it isn’t even serious enough to warrant going to a doctor, but it is always serious enough to warrant some form of self-care. So when self harming, be mindful of what you can do to help yourself after the event. Always have disinfectant, bandages and the like handy so you can clean up after the fact and limit any infection or unwanted side effects that may occur.
Keep a list of emergency numbers handy… Sometimes things don’t go to plan. Even though I had been self harming for years, always able to control the damage I was inflicting, in 2008 I accidentally cut too deep when I was self harming. Unable to stem the flow of blood myself, I had to somehow navigate a nasty depressive and agoraphobic episode to seek medical aid. The episode was so bad that I couldn’t remember anything. Not even my name, let alone the number to call an ambulance. Now, in case of self harm emergencies, I keep a list of emergency numbers on the lid of my safety box; 000, suicide helplines, general helplines, my local GP and support worker. Anyone who may be able to help in the event of a self harm emergency. I’ve never had to use the list, but I am thankful it is there, in case I did need to use it. So consider compiling a list of important numbers of your own and keep it somewhere handy. You don’t have to limit the numbers to medical contacts, you may want to list a few friends who you can call, for you never know what you might forget whilst lost to a period of depression and self harm.
What about you? Do you have any tips, tricks, tactics or advice that helps you deal with self harm urges? I’d love to know…
Aside from a few blogs that touch on self harm (e.g. Pride in Madness, Marci, Mental Health and More, Imillnotcrazy) I frequent very few websites that tackle this topic. The reason for this is simple: I find discussion of self harm triggering, and were I to read blogs about self harm, my personal safety may be put in jeopardy. In the past I have visited numerous blogs and websites about self harm, but continuously found myself up against highly triggering images of other peoples self harm. I have never liked looking at pictures of self harm, because it makes me want to replicate the damage on my own flesh, so such content put me off visiting these sites on a repeated basis.
“Your story possesses the capacity to inspire courage. It can create change and compassion, transforming a culture of stigma and misunderstanding. Your story matters because it can give another person hope.”
~ from Why Your Story Matters, by Rachael Stevens
The only website that I turn to for support when it comes to my self harm is To Write Love On Her Arms. Despite the slightly sexist name (some men write love on their arms too!) it is a glorious collection of inspiration, insight and supportive content. It’s blog, written by several different authors, is worth anyone’s time and regularly posts thought-provoking and inspiring stories. An events page houses a collection of events and campaigns that you can join, which is fine if you live in the US where most of the events take place, but less relevant for me, living as I do on the arse end of the world. There is also a store, where you can by branded merchandise, as well as all manner of information relating to depression, self harm and mental illness. It is certainly a website that I admire, and one that is more than worth a little of your time.
As per usual, my weekend has been subdued, quiet and uneventful. In fact, the only thing to happen of note was my date with Meadhbh on Saturday afternoon. After my Lego Batman fueled conversation with Audrey on Friday, Meadhbh opted to hunt fantastical creatures in Monster Hunter Tri, a Wii game that sees you play the part of a hunter tasked with ridding the environment of marauding creatures. We used to play it extensively back in 2013, and it is a game that marked a turning point in our relationship, as it symbolized the rebuilding of trust and friendship after Meadhbh’s abusive phase. This came up in conversation on Saturday, with Meadhbh lamenting her years spent attacking me, though never once providing an explanation for why she had done it. She never has. It is just something I have to deal with, another complication in an already complicated relationship.
What my date with Meadhbh proved was twofold. Firstly, it proved to me that Meadhbh knows me better than anyone else. Audrey and Vanessa would disagree, of course, but Meadhbh can make my heart sing in ways they could only dream of. She has been part of my life for over twenty years, and as we talked on Saturday, we reminisced about various events and incidents that had defined our relationship. From the SNES gaming, self harming and school bullying teenage years, through to the supportive confident Meadhbh has become today. Secondly, my date with Meadhbh proved once and for all how lonely I have become. And although she says she understands, I don’t think even Meadhbh can grasp just how painful my isolation is.
For eight years now, save for a six month period in 2008, my only company has been my voices. I spend each and every day alone, isolated and ostracized from the world, and the people who populate it. Sure, there are people online who comment on my blog and extend friendship via the interwebs, and I love each and every one of them, but it doesn’t alter the fact that I am eternally alone. I miss having people text me. I miss having people phone me up just to see how I am. I miss meeting my friends at the pub for a lively trivia night. And I miss having someone to turn to when life gets me down. There is only so much my voices can do. Sure, they can offer a friendly ear and a supportive comment, but they cannot wrap their arms around my trembling body and hug the pain away. They cannot brush their hand over mine and whisper that everything will be alright. And they cannot slap me in the face and tell me to stop acting like a moron.
I miss my friends.
I miss Grace. I miss Samantha.
I miss Annie, Deborah and Rachel.
I even miss Kathy; before she became the emotionally abusive sociopathic narcissist she became.
Myself, Grace, Kathy and others; proof that my friends did exist, once upon a time.
We had so many good times together. Times that, today, feel like distant long-ago dreams. Visions of serenity amidst a fog of chaos and pain. Annie and I spent so many wonderful days together in Canada; swimming in snake infested lakes, hiking mountainous regions and playing silly games whilst laying under a canvas roof. Deborah and I traveled Scotland together; exploring Stornoway, falling in love with Berneray and enacting movies amidst the Callanish Standing Stones. We used to stay up for hours, Deborah and I, just talking and smoking into oblivion. It was beautiful. And yet all these times; of Rachel slapping me in the face as we supped on whisky; of Grace and I performing an impromptu karaoke of Elephant Love Medley; of Samantha and I doing naughty (wonderful) things in a Glaswegian hotel, they are all but dreams now. Events that never happened. Events I have fabricated from the desolation of my own isolated imagination. The rampant fantasies of a lonely man lost to the world. Deep down I know they happened. Deep down I know I playfully spanked Samantha in an Adelaidian park, I know I used to sit in pubs and talk bollocks with Grace, I know Kathy and I would flirt our collective asses off with each other as we bent over a pool table. But those times, those moments and memories that make up my life, feel distant, deserted and wrong. They don’t feel like my memories. They feel like anything but.
It’s almost as if I need human contact to validate my life. To prove to myself that things actually happened. I need people around me to confirm that I do indeed exist. That things do happen to me. Because without that validation, without that confirmation, my life feels sterile, empty and hollow. I know the damage isolation has caused me. I know the devastation it has wrought on my life only too well. It has careened through everything, smashing its way through my existence with scant abandon, and now my isolation, my punishment, is slowly eating away at my memories. Turning them to dust. Turning them to dream. And I don’t know what to do about it. I know I need to make new friends. I know that would halt the chaos and be a profound turning point in my life. But how? How do I open myself up to other people? How do I trust again after the agony Kathy inflicted on me? After she turned our wonderful, unique friendship into her own manipulative, deceit filled lie?
The last time I opened myself up to someone was Diane, and she pissed it back in my face, flirting her way across Alice Springs, sleeping with random people on Christmas Day, embarking on dates whilst I sat alone in our unit. The time I opened myself up before that was Samantha, and although she didn’t turn it against me, although she loved me in her own unique way, she died, Samantha. She died. And I’ve never got over that betrayal. That loss. I don’t think I ever will. So how – how? – do I make new friends, how do I trust people again, after all the pain, heartache and betrayal I’ve experienced. How do I believe someone wants to be my friend. How do I know they’re not just pretending like Kathy was? Manipulating my emotions into believing I have someone who cares about me when all they want is for me to kill myself, as Kathy herself told me?
I want to make friends.
I want to part of something again.
I’ve just forgotten how.
And I don’t know what to do about it.
Meadhbh tells me I just need to put myself out there. That I need to embark on a series of random adventures that will see me come face to face with new people who will love me for who I am. I want to believe. But I don’t. I don’t see how anyone could like someone as broken, fucked up and worthless as me. Meadhbh tells me I’m not worthless, that I have a point, that I have a meaning, but I just don’t see it. The trauma of the abuse has crippled my ability to see myself as anything other than what Kathy informed me I was; useless, pathetic, selfish and worthless. The most unnecessary and repulsive human being to have ever lived. Meadhbh tells me I need to believe in myself, that no-one will ever love me until I love myself, and deep down I know she’s right. I’ve said the same things in the past. But how do I learn to love myself again when I cannot stand spending time with myself? When my day is a boring, monotonous routine of repetition? I try to shake it up. I try to do things differently. But it all feels wrong. It all feels pointless. I dunno. Maybe I’m just having a bad day. Maybe I’ve just been having one of those weekends where my brain runs away with itself; filling itself with all sorts of confusing, insecure flotsam and jetsam. Maybe spending time with Meadhbh made me miss my old friends so completely, so truly, that I’ve been unable to think of anything but their brilliant smiles, delightful wit and bizarre mentalities.
And now this post has descended into woe-is-me territory my mind is trying to convince me not to post it. People don’t want to read such navel gazing hyperbole, it says, people want to read inspiring motifs of wonderment and awesomeness! And it’s probably right, my mind, but I think it’s important to post this post all the same. It may not get much feedback. It may have no-one read it. But it would stand as testament to my current malaise. As proof that there was a time that I was loved; that I had friends; that I was someone people admired.
Like Audrey on Friday, I have agreed to date Meadhbh on a monthly basis. The third Saturday of every month, from 2pm-4pm, will be our time. We will do what she desires and talk about what she wants to talk about. I will spend time with my imaginary friend because I have no-one in reality to spend time with. For I am, as I will probably always be, a lonely, forgotten soul.
And on that note I will end for today, else I risk this post becoming even more bleak than it already is. Wishing you all a happy, friend-filled day! :)
I draw most of my inspiration from other bloggers; for example, Marci, Mental Health and More, Pride in Madness, Many of Us, Diary of a Social Phobic, Panic Disordered. Their stories are a continual source of inspiration as I continue my journey toward recovery. Even if their story doesn’t necessarily revolve around self harm, without them, I don’t think I would be where I am today. I certainly don’t think I would have been self harm free for as long as I have been. Visiting their sites, reading their inspirational words, gives me the strength I need to keep going, to keep battling.
As for people outside of the blogosphere, people who have inspired me in my recovery, we’re talking few and far between. Grace, would be one person who inspired me. In the short time we were friends she fought her own demons, and through those skirmishes she gave me courage and confidence to persevere with my own battles. Samantha, also, is someone who gave me a tremendous amount of support and kindness when it came to my self harm. She would listen to me when I needed to talk about it. Never judging me. Never holding it against me. Just supporting me. Just being the distraction I needed to conquer my pain. My mother is also someone who has given me inspiration in my battles with self-injury. Like Grace, she too has battled the demons of self harm, and she has found a myriad of strategies and mechanisms to help her cope, strategies that she has shared with me so that I could work toward reigning in my self harm urges.
To all of these people, both in real life and the blogosphere, I extend gratitude from the bottom of my heart. Without you, I wouldn’t be where I am today. I wouldn’t be self harm free for eight months, two weeks and four days. I wouldn’t be anywhere close to conquering my self harm urges. So thank you, truly. You are all a source of tremendous inspiration for this troubled soul.
All that I am, all that I ever was... 