My Story
I started self-harming when I was 12. I was bullied really badly, and I was so lonely.
I didn’t understand why I was getting picked on. I thought it had to be me, that’s the problem, and that’s when I started to self-harm and think about suicide.
I carried so much anger with me all the time. When I lost all my friends, that anger had to go somewhere. It seemed like the easiest thing was to inflict pain on myself. I saw it as a punishment. I thought I was such a bad person.
I’ve had talking therapy and thought a lot about why I self-harmed. It was so helpful for my recovery. Now I can recognise what I’m triggered by. When it first started, it was the pain of being so on my own and so angry. As I got older, it all revolved around relationships: when my ex-boyfriend finished with me, or when I found out more information about my birth mom.
My dad spoke for me because I was too fragile. Everyone else kept trying to brush it off and telling me to cheer up. I was lucky to have someone to say you are really, really struggling, and I want to help you.
As I was going to seek help and gradually getting better, I made a social media account and started making friends. We were all in very similar positions, which is how we came together in our little community and helped each other.
Nowadays, to manage my emotions, I read a lot: I always have self-care books on my phone. If I feel anxious, it’s about physically bringing myself back into the room. I smell something, taste something, and touch something. I do breathing exercises, and once I feel like I’m ok, I put on something to do with self-progress, on iTunes, Amazon, or YouTube: something that is gentle but is inspiring.
I read a lot about mindfulness, accepting where you are in life. I’ve found that when you accept the here and now, life will become a lot easier. That’s incredibly powerful for me.
I thought this would be an easy story to tell. I don’t know why I thought that, considering I haven’t told it before, but as I kept putting off writing this, I realised it’s because telling this story is the very definition of vulnerability. People I know might read this and find this out about me for the first time, so I second-guessed whether I really wanted to expose myself like that. But we need to tell these stories to encourage people struggling to reach out for help and, just as important, to help others understand what people they love are going through. So here goes.
I started self-harming (self-injuring) when I was 12, which, as it turns out, is a common age for self-harming behaviour to start.1 I was being bullied at school (a common cause for self-harming behaviour), ostracised by almost my entire grade and was being verbally harassed every day by my schoolmates anytime we were outside of the classroom — before school, recesses, lunch, and after school.
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I didn’t know what to do with all the pain I was feeling. I had no recourse, or at least I felt like I didn’t. I thought the adults in my life should see what was happening and do something about it. I wasn’t acting like myself and was being told I was “bad”, but still, no one asked what was going on. I felt like everything was my fault, that I was bad, and I deserved what was happening, so I kept it all inside me. I felt like I couldn’t tell anybody or do anything about it. The only thing I had control over was me, because I couldn’t process the emotional pain I was carrying, so I started harming myself. I would cut myself with a blade because the physical pain was real, and it would take my mind off the emotional pain I was going through. I could look at the bruises and say, “See? That pain is real.” It became an expression of my emotional pain.
It worked. Or at least it seemed like it did, because I was able to feel something else, something real that I could identify and heal from, so I kept doing it anytime I was hurting or felt I had no control over what was happening around me. I had never heard of self-harm (this was before the internet), and I thought I must be the only one feeling this and doing this, and that added to the shame I already felt.
In high school, I started cutting more and more and more until my sides, thighs and arms were covered with scars. That physical pain was a way to process the emotional pain and let it go. Now I realise that even though it seemed like it was helping, it absolutely wasn’t.
I started cutting myself when I was 15. It was a new way to release the pain I was holding inside me; bruises, blood, and scars became the tangible expression of my mental struggles. And there was a bit of an endorphin rush from the physical pain, too, which offered a different kind of release, albeit short-term.
When I was 15, I cut the words “I hate myself” into my leg. When I was done, and I saw the words bleeding, I panicked. It was going on summer, and I realised everyone would see it. I cleaned and bandaged my leg, and I wore pants all summer (and the next summer, waiting for the scars to fade), even on the hottest days, because I didn’t want anyone to see it. And I didn’t self-harm for attention. I did it to cope. That’s also why I’ve never really told anyone about my struggle with it. Well, that and the one time I did tell someone, they got really angry with me. They yelled at me and left, and we never talked about it again. I know now they reacted that way because they were angry that I’d hurt myself, and they didn’t know what to do with that information — they were scared. But I felt even more shame after that, and I didn’t tell anybody else, nor did I stop self-harming.
During all this, I did want to die; I just wanted to feel something. The connection between self-harm and suicide is complicated: self-harm can lead to suicide, and people who have attempted suicide have also often self-harmed. Some people say they self-harm specifically as a way to avoid suicidal behaviours, while other studies show that people who self-harm are at significant risk for suicidal behaviours.
When I turned 16, however, I was diagnosed with depressive disorder in part because of thoughts of suicide. But the diagnosis also led me to get help. It’s been a long, slow journey with many steps back (and up and down and sideways and forwards), but gradually I’ve learned to identify my emotions and why I’m feeling them, and when to get more help. I’ve also learned other ways to help process and express my emotions, including talking about them. Now that I have access to mental health care and better ways of expressing my emotions, I’m less likely to think about self-harming, and it’s been one month since I acted on these thoughts. And while I’ve thought about suicide twice at the very lowest of severe depressive episodes since I turned 16, I reached out for help so that it didn’t go further than thoughts. Not everyone is so fortunate.
This — self-harm — is the one piece of my mental health picture that I’ve kept secret. I’m sharing it now because I know there are other people out there struggling and feeling shame. This story is my way of saying, “I see you.” It’s also a story to help people who know someone who self-harms. I want those people to understand that self-harm isn’t about wanting attention, but it might be a way of asking for help when someone doesn’t know how to ask otherwise. So, if you see that someone has harmed themselves, please ask them if they’re okay. Don’t get mad at them for hurting themselves, even though it might be what you’re feeling. Talking to someone about self-harm can make someone feel incredibly vulnerable. And keep an open mind because people self-harm for all sorts of reasons.
For me, self-harm gave me a sense of control when everything felt out of my control — it was a way to manage my emotional pain by both causing and feeling physical pain. I also felt shame about things happening in my life, feeling I was to blame, I was bad, so I punished myself, which only fed my shame. Now, when I’m struggling, I talk to a friend, family member or my therapist, or I express what I’m feeling creatively through words or art, or by having a spontaneous dance party to get that anxious energy out of my body. I also now know to acknowledge when I’m struggling, and I tell myself, “You’re struggling today, and that sucks, so be kind to yourself.”
That’s something many of us don’t do enough — be kind to ourselves. We will be kind and compassionate to others, but we don’t extend that same loving kindness to ourselves. We blame ourselves or hold shame or feel like we’re the one person that doesn’t deserve kindness and compassion. All the things we are, all the things we’ve done, all the things people think about us (true or not) are what make us human … and wonderful. So, when you’re struggling, please be kind to yourself, if not for your sake, then for the sake of someone who loves you.
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