#114 Self-Injury

'self-injure' , also called self harm, self-mutilation, is defined as any intentional injury to one's own body.

People assume that I injure myself to get their attention. Who would be that crazy? By the time I have hurt myself, I no longer care what people think. Thankfully they are no longer on my radar. If I have gone to the edge of the world and come back alive, only because I have cut or burned myself, then it doesn't matter how crazy people think I am.
I am alive!
I have survived a firestorm once again!

I can't say when I first discovered that physical pain douses the fire in my brain and makes me feel calm and safe again, but I suspect that I was a pretty small child.
Because there is no logic to it and most adults are afraid to cut or burn themselves, few understand that it actually takes away the panic. Immediately after I get the rush of physical pain, I am filled with a peace and calmness that has been absent for days or weeks. I am aware of the pain but, nonetheless, the relief is amazing. I am happy to feel in control of something again
Those who judge me crazy cannot appreciate the fact that, for some of us, self-injury can be a matter of survival.
A few hours or days into recovery I am flooded with shame.
I am embarrassed to be alive.

#102 Self Diagnosis

"I Hate You - don't leave me!" The book screams at me from the shelf. I know exactly what that means but the subtitle confuses me, "Understanding Borderline Personality Disorder." I run home and devour it's contents in a few hours. This book is all about me! How can that be? I don't know what B.P.D. is and I've never heard of a personality disorder.

Borderline Personality Disorder is a mental illness that causes intense mood swings, impulsive behaviours and severe problems with relationships and self-worth.

I shove the book across the desk of my family physician and stammer..."this is about me!" Barely looking at it, "of course it is," she snaps. I stop breathing. Which psychiatrist or which hospitalization produced this diagnosis is not to be revealed. Apparently, there is no requirement to share this kind of information with a patient. What good would it do? There is no cure.

For people with this personality disorder long-term relationships are usually impossible and marriage is rare. Relationships with helping agencies also tend to be fraught with problems, making treatment by psychotherapy or drugs difficult.

The more I read about BPD the more humiliated I am. All of it is true but it embarrasses me to see it in print. It feels like everyone knows now, although I have not disclosed my discovery to anyone. My roller coaster life starts to show a pattern. As long as I can remember, valleys of depression have alternated with mountains of panic. When the trolley is about to fly off the track I resort to burning or cutting myself to maintain some feeling of control.

People with BPD exhibit a frantic fear of abandonment that may lead to problems with anger, injuring themselves or suicide attempts.

I am in shock for a long time until I realize that naming the bogeyman gives me power. Since it has a name then there are others like me out there.

I get a new doctor and a new therapist.
I am not alone anymore.

#98 hanging in there

they tell me that
old age is not for sissies
i'm here to tell you that
neither is mental illness

an uphill struggle
carrying the weight of the world
battling demons
shaking off crisis after crisis
putting the pieces back together
one more time

and going on

i know now that
i will never give up the fight
too much hard work
too many tears shed
too much brutal pain
too many times
dragging myself in off the ledge
to let it all be for nothing

so if it takes guts
to grow old
i think i have what it takes

#95 Frustration!!!

It is beginning to dawn on me that I cannot tolerate frustration in all its myriad forms. My mother didn't teach me because she was unable to handle her own. If I got frustrated, she got physical with me.
While my brain is going round and round about how terrible a situation is, how rotten people are to me, and how it is all going to end in catastrophe the agitation grows bigger and bigger. I can’t interrupt the babble in my head to inject some reason. There are no volume or intensity controls up there. The on/off switch is in my body.
I know that if I inflict physical pain on myself, the frustration will instantly disappear.
Self-injury is the off switch.

#82 Writing or Righting My Story?

Self-injury, in its various forms, makes my pain visible - in the past as well as the present. When there was no one there to care for me, I had to get through it on my own and each time I did, I was proud of myself. However, I was also angry that no one praised my strength and courage. No one noticed or seemed to care.

When I self injure, I am inflicting similar damage on my body and triumphing over it. The scars that I create, serve as a reminder of what went before. I want to show the world how I can survive anything. I want to prove that my survival is no random accident, that I am in control now and I will make it right!
As I re-play my painful childhood, my history is written on my body and I revive that child. I bring her back to consciousness. I say, “Well done, you do not need anyone anymore! You are in control of your survival. You are alive. It is all right now!”

I am not just writing my story, I am making it right.

#55 What is the Connection?

If suicide is murder delayed, what is self injury? We refuse to recognize that suicide is rooted in personal history because the perpetrator is long gone when the actual dying occurs.

If we can't make that connection, how do we connect the act of self injury to the long ago abuser of the child?

For the most part, my attacks have been against my arms and hands. But for the worst two years of my life, I swallowed a corrosive substance about 25 times. So I was burning my 'insides.'
I don't remember finding any logic in what I was doing. I do remember a near hysterical voice shouting, "You swallowed what?", but I had not felt so calm in quite a while, and I didn‘t see why they couldn‘t appreciate that. Unfortunately, the effect didn't last long, and I had to keep repeating the procedure, increasing the amount every time.

I think now that something was 'gaining' on me and this was my attempt to outrun it. But I don’t understand how the particular method I used connects to the original crime (or criminal.).

Nonetheless, each time I experience the pain;
I can float away and forget again.

#52 Back From Hell

I told myself that I would never blog during a firestorm. (#22 Firestorms - An Attempt to Explain). And I haven't. But today I am in recovery.

Yesterday my frustration with something physical triggered a terrible storm. It is often a difficulty with something that I can't make work, that releases the feelings stored in my body. Suddenly, there is not a millimeter of space left. The tank is overflowing!

I got up this morning to survey the damage...to my body and to my soul. Minor cuts, nothing like past events. What did I write? Can I find the courage to read it? There are a lot of four-letter words. Flashes of memories that I can usually keep in the box. A great deal of pain. The desire to survive once more.

This time, I gave conscious space to the injured five year old. The writing shows that she used her voice. And, as hard as it was, I listened.

We both survived.

#47 Mad or Scared?

For several months, I have been increasingly anxious, but now the roller coaster is nearing it's breaking point.
At any time I can break down or blow up about something that is happening or, even, just something that I am thinking about.

Am I scared or mad? Does it matter? Some might say, it is enough to acknowledge the big feeling. But if they were inside where I am, it would be important to know what the hell is going on. I don't want it to impact other people, so I have to define it so I can develop a strategy to protect others.
But it is mute. Words are missing. Just this grinding in my stomach, difficulty breathing, and a pounding in my chest. Not to mention that my brain feels jumbled.
I am afraid to talk to anyone. How do I explain what is going on with me? If I open my mouth, what is likely to come out?

Something about
..."not being able to take it anymore"
..."no one wants to be around me anymore"
..."I need to hurt myself to get it to stop"
..."everyone is mad at me"
..."I am such an idiot"
So I dare not talk to anyone.

I wish I could know what it is that is making me feel so crazy. I understand now why I would like to injury myself just so that I can feel something that I can name!

#45 And then...

#41 What is IT?

I’ve been fighting anxiety for weeks now.
I have had a couple of meltdowns, but no firestorms.
When the anxiousness materializes in my body, I tell myself that it is only a feeling and nothing bad is happening. Breathe!
It returns and escalates, so whatever I am doing isn’t working.

I feel cut off from the world.
As the isolation grows, I find I cannot think of anything else but injuring myself.
I know hurting myself will chase away the panic ( and the ghosts and the flashbacks) and I won’t feel so alone for a while.

Whatever this thing is, that can be sent packing by some pain and blood, is just out of my reach.

What could it be that a burn or a cut can force it back into its hiding place?
I think it originated with a fear rising in my body and a sense of being abandoned
…stretching on for ever.
It cannot be stopped.

#35 Anxiety Running-a-Muck

I can’t believe the things that are making me anxious these days.
I have this permanent knot in my stomach.

The weather scares me; the passage of time worries me.
I got upset because the garbage can was full.
I had a meltdown because the price of cat food went up.
I grow frightened when the bus doesn’t come right away.

I guess it is a free-floating anxiety that will attach itself to anything in my environment.
I will be almost asleep and suddenly I am kicked in the gut by some random thought…
“What if…”

There seem to be a thousand calamities just waiting to befall me or someone I care about. Everywhere there are accidents waiting to happen. There are catastrophes lining up in front of me.

I need for this fear to stop before it becomes a firestorm and I end up injuring myself.
But even more important, I really wish this panic would subside because it is starting to annoy other people.

#23 The Helpless Observer

During my countless meltdowns, I always have a sense of someone, or some part of me, watching the-goings-on.

But she wasn’t inside me (#15 Watching My Brain Work) but remaining at a safe distance somewhere outside. She is as baffled, as any bystander would be, at why I am doing the things I am doing. Throughout my life, whether I was banging my head, or I was doing something far more dangerous, she just watched.

She held onto the belief that I would be dead within hours if I was not allowed to do what I needed to do.

She did not intervene.

Now I don’t know how to feel about her. She stood by and let me take extreme risks. Was she really powerless to help? Did she just not care? Where and when did she learn this trick of stepping outside and just watching?

She is my witness.

These days, as I acquire the ability to feel my feelings without acting on them,
I think of her…the Helpless Observer and I thank her.

#22 FIRESTORMS - An Attempt to Explain

A Firestorm follows weeks of tension, gallons of worry, tons of fear, acres of frustration and a simmering under-the-radar rage.

Attempts to shut it all off and dissociate inevitably bring disaster.

What I experience in a firestorm is nearly impossible to remember, let alone to describe.
It feels like I’m disintegrating, breaking into a zillion pieces.
Time stands still. I am suffocating. My brain is on fire.

I AM GOING TO DIE!

It is so terrifying that I sometimes, literally, try to outrun it - racing up and down in my apartment. I’ve smacked my head against a wall to stun it into submission. I’ve decided, time and time again, that the only thing that will bring relief from it, is suicide.

When I can‘t do it anymore, I will hurt myself.

I sometimes require medical intervention but mostly I have managed the injuries myself. The second the physical pain bursts onto the scene, the firestorm stops.

All is calm. My mind can breathe again.

I dress my wounds, if necessary. I put away anything that I have written during the storm. I try to swallow the shame and embarrassment. When morning comes I want to be able to pretend everything is OK.

I HAVE SURVIVED ONE MORE TIME!