Self injurers.

[Nirvanadragones]

And a quote:

Since you ask, most days I cannot remember.
I walk in my clothing, unmarked by that voyage.
Then the almost unnameable lust returns.
--Anne Sexton

 

[Trinique_Fire]

I'm sick and tired of everything. I don't want to live through another episode of this...nothingness. This is all too monotonous, too pointless. It's the same bullshit, the same short end of the stick, with a slightly different twist each time it's played out. I'm so tired of the bullshit, so tired of people, so tired of noise and music and little kids. I want to lay down and sleep for so many millenia, and never wake back up. I want to vomit and purge myself of everything that is tearing me up inside. I'm tired of pleasing people, tired of smiling when really I just think everyone is a huge sucky fat asshole. I hate people acting like I'm some sort of crazy bitch when I get angry, like I'm not validated in my anger. Motherfucker if you don't like it, look the other damn way and keep your sorry ass mouth shut. I'm sick and fucking tired of being ignored, turned down, whined at, bitched at, whatever. Go take it to confession, because I really don't give a flying fuck. I want to crush my fists into walls, hard enough to bleed. I want to slam my head against the floor and throw my whole body against the fucking window and feel it shatter. I want to wring necks. I want to sit and eat laxatives, eat laxatives and then shit out all the evil boiling up inside me. I want to shit out the fat. I want to be free. I'm tired of cocky men. I want to shit them out of my life too. I just want everything gone. I'm sick and tired of life and all its bullshit. I just want to eat laxatives and vomit it all away, over and over and over....

 

[Explaura]

When I was in high school I used to pull out my hair. There was something that just felt so good about it. Once I started, I just couldn't stop. I figured my tiny hairs.. I'd have tons to make any difference. It added up.. I had big bald spots before I stopped. I never thought of it as self injuring.. I didn't ever tell anyone.. I figured it was just something I liked. I quit by training myself to scratch my palms. I have big calluses on my palms now. I have gone through more than once.. Not for a long time though. But it is easier to deal with than balding. Noone notices, generally it doesn't take too much. I still do it when I'm in distress. I can feel my palms tingle when I think about it. Someone once told me it was an acupuncture point dealing with anxiety. I don't feel like there is anything wrong with it. I am naturally figity.. and I don't see how it can hurt me long term.

 

[Worker11811]

I can certainly relate to how you must feel but, if I may, I would like to point out a short, little quote:

"Most folks are about as happy as they make up their minds to be."
-- Abraham Lincoln.

 

[mismused]

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[Roxanne Appleby]

When I was in high school I used to pull out my hair. There was something that just felt so good about it. Once I started, I just couldn't stop. I figured my tiny hairs.. I'd have tons to make any difference. It added up.. I had big bald spots before I stopped. I never thought of it as self injuring.. I didn't ever tell anyone.. I figured it was just something I liked. I quit by training myself to scratch my palms. I have big calluses on my palms now. I have gone through more than once.. Not for a long time though. But it is easier to deal with than balding. Noone notices, generally it doesn't take too much. I still do it when I'm in distress. I can feel my palms tingle when I think about it. Someone once told me it was an acupuncture point dealing with anxiety. I don't feel like there is anything wrong with it. I am naturally figity.. and I don't see how it can hurt me long term.

Will you go bald? That would be bad. You might want to research that.

 

[cloudy]

When I was in high school I used to pull out my hair. There was something that just felt so good about it. Once I started, I just couldn't stop. I figured my tiny hairs.. I'd have tons to make any difference. It added up.. I had big bald spots before I stopped. I never thought of it as self injuring.. I didn't ever tell anyone.. I figured it was just something I liked. I quit by training myself to scratch my palms. I have big calluses on my palms now. I have gone through more than once.. Not for a long time though. But it is easier to deal with than balding. Noone notices, generally it doesn't take too much. I still do it when I'm in distress. I can feel my palms tingle when I think about it. Someone once told me it was an acupuncture point dealing with anxiety. I don't feel like there is anything wrong with it. I am naturally figity.. and I don't see how it can hurt me long term.

Actually, it sounds very like obsessive-compulsive disorder. I'd check it out.

 

[rgraham666]

I can certainly relate to how you must feel but, if I may, I would like to point out a short, little quote:

Certainly. All it takes is a little willpower, a little stick-to-itivness, a little decision not to have a problem. And all will be fine.

Not!

Go to the place some of us have been, come back. I doubt you'll be singing the same tune.

 

[mismused]

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[Fallenfromgrace]

This is longer than i expected it to be:

about 3 years ago i started cutting my legs. A friend of mine pointed out that i was like a coke bottle that had been shaken up, and i was about ready to explode. And i did, i cut. A lot. I cut words mostly- sometimes quite deep but others not so. I cut words into my thighs like 'ugly' 'fat' 'stupid' which incedently were and are words ive been called by my mother a lot.

'you're so stupid.' 'you can be so stupid sometimes' 'how can you be so thick?'

etc etc.

When above friend realised i'd started cutting she was so upset. she was a cutter herself and urged me to stop. She said that if i had no other way- a non SI manner of release then maybe one that wouldn't leave scars. She suggested a tight hairband around the wrist with a metal bar on it- she said to snap it against my wrist when i felt i needed to feel pain, andremid myself tha i was human and that i was allowed emotions. She also suggested clenching a cube of ice in my palm- the excrutiating cold would cause the pain i desired.

I did both of these things, feeling disgusted with myself for the scars on my legs, but they didnt help. I came to realise that the actual blood letting was what i needed, not neccesarily the pain. i needed to see the 'bad' blood leave my body.

I used to cut in the shower. The shower would be on its highest temperature (45 degrees c) and highest pressure. I'd wet my leg's making them hotter and hotter, my blood would flush to the surface and i'd cut. I'd watch the blood seep out of the straight wound and would feel the relief, watching the blood drip down my leg, and then seer over the wound with the hot water again, causing that sharp inhalation of air as the heat caused pain again.

I'd leave the shower and rub my wounds with Iodine solution, to disinfect primarily, but the sting it caused was also a SI i guess.

I stopped cutting for about 8 months, then i came out about my sexuality to my parents and the weeks following were hell- i started cutting.

Things got a bit better for a while and i stopped cutting. My now ex didn't understand why i hid my scars as much as possible, she beleived they were a part of me and that i shouldnt be ashamed. I'd often get redressed after sex because i didnt want them exposed. she'd comfort me, and not let me put my trousers on, she'd kiss my scars and it just made me cry.

I had stopped cutting from before getting with her till about 3 weeks ago.

I started cutting my legs again.

I've cut with blades.
I've scratched till bleeding just with my nails.
I've used the hairband tecnique
ive used the ice technique.
I punch at the edge of my desk or the walls till my knuckled go red and sting.

I saw a counsellor at my school who was a godsend, but then i left.
whilst seeing the counsellor at school she got quite worried about me and suggested i see my GP she wrote a letter to him. He reffered me to a psychiatrist who i didnt really like but talked to coz i needed the help. She concluded that i didnt have suicidal ideation and that i wasnt depressed.

When i started at uni i reffered myself (and used a referal letter from my psychiatrist) to the counselling service. I go now, im in group therapy. I can't talk about self harm in the group. It so happened that the 2 (of 5) people who turned up other than me last week had to leave early, and so i was along with my two counsellors. It was hard and scary, and it took me a long time to admit i'd cut again.

I really think that therapy has a lot to do with who you are seeing.

I want to stop, but i can't. ATM i feel ok, but that could change from hour to hour.

I used to find that art and writting poetry helped, but now that i dont have as much time to write poetry, or do any art i can't really use i as a release.

I had a freind at uni who i am clsoer to this year, and i want to tell her about this problem i am having, but i can't seem to actually do it. i might one day.

thank you for this thread, i know im not alone, but i felt that this kind of environment wasn't the right place to talk about it and so i didnt.

Take a look at my 'I am glass' submission if you want (link in sig)

Fallen (in many ways)

 

[Lovepotion69]

This thread. Omg, I am not sure if I should cry or not while reading it. First of all, I'm in awe of you all. Those of you who live with people who harm themselves/have harmed themselves, and those of you who do/have done it. You're all so strong for admitting it and also admitting you have a problem. For those of you who have left that time behind you, I salut and admire you. But I also can imagine it'll always be a part of who you are, so I guess one can't leave it behind fully, ever.

I've always had a bit of a destructive personality in a way. I don't do physical harm to myself, but I can beat myself up pretty badly mentally. Always been like that. Whenever my parents would be mad with me I'd feel like I was the most horrible kid in the world, and that I could never do anything right. When mom found out how my thoughts went she lovingly explained that of course I wasn't "only bad".

I've worked through a lot of issues I had growing up. It's mainly in my head majority of it, but it's been tough letting go of it. I still occasionally think I'm the worst daughter there is and that my parents would be better off without me. I mean, if I can't make them happy, then what's the point of me being there in the first place, eh?

In high school I thought of suicide occasionally. Then I did crap in physics and decided to try out the whole theory what will happen if I swallow X amount of painkillers. I think there's something within me that will think "ok, no point in being in this world", but when it comes to it I'm too chicken to actually do something about it. I have the weirdest thoughts at times that I want an addiction like anorexia. I've tried the whole forcing myself to puke thing, but nope, doesn't work for me.

The weird thing about me is probably that I have dark thoughts (thankfully less now than as a teen), but I am too "sane" to follow them all through. (Which I'm also thankful for).


I've only (knowingingly) met one girl who has cut herself. She showed me her arms a few times and there were scars all over them. It pained me to see her do that to herself and together with a friend we tried to help her with things. I have to admit I realised I was getting too deep into it all, and it hurt me to admit it to myself, but I just couldn't handle helping her. It became too much. I became too involved, so much that I felt like I knew that if I got more involved it'd drag me down and end up with me getting messed up as well.

So, I let my friend take care of her. He has done a wonderful job and from what I hear she's doing better nowadays. I meet her occsionally on the train and I ask her how she's doing. I think she seems better, but she has a lot of issues to deal with. I'm just hoping she'll have wonderful and supportive people around her to help out. She's a wonderful young woman, and I wish her the very best in life.

 

[Worker11811]

Go to the place some of us have been, come back. I doubt you'll be singing the same tune.

Does two years of psychotherapy, for up to three days per week count? Does being afraid to go to sleep for fear the nightmares will come back qualify? Does waking up one morning to find bloody footprints on your bedroom floor, yet not having a mark on your body give any idea what it's like to be in the place you have been?

Realize that the first step to getting out of that "place" you are in is to decide that you don't want to be IN that place anymore. And, until you make up your mind that you are sick and tired of being sick and tired, you're NEVER going to find your way out.

Yes, you are 100% correct. You don't just wake up one morning and decide that you are happy and that the world is all wine and roses. But, on the other hand, you DO have to wake up one morning and decide that you are going to stop wallowing in your own shit.

Getting better isn't something that happens by itself. You have to WORK at it.

I'm sorry if I angered you but, maybe... just maybe, getting angry is what you need to get you to make up your mind.

 

[rgraham666]

Does two years of psychotherapy, for up to three days per week count? Does being afraid to go to sleep for fear the nightmares will come back qualify? Does waking up one morning to find bloody footprints on your bedroom floor, yet not having a mark on your body give any idea what it's like to be in the place you have been?

Realize that the first step to getting out of that "place" you are in is to decide that you don't want to be IN that place anymore. And, until you make up your mind that you are sick and tired of being sick and tired, you're NEVER going to find your way out.

Yes, you are 100% correct. You don't just wake up one morning and decide that you are happy and that the world is all wine and roses. But, on the other hand, you DO have to wake up one morning and decide that you are going to stop wallowing in your own shit.

Getting better isn't something that happens by itself. You have to WORK at it.

I'm sorry if I angered you but, maybe... just maybe, getting angry is what you need to get you to make up your mind.

I beg your pardon. I misjudged you.

I'm not going to get angry though. Anger is the major contributor to my problems and you can't treat the problem with more of the same.

 

[mismused]

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[Trinique_Fire]

Raw. Bruised rant.

I have injured myself under gentle folds of skin you will never see again, hoping that perhaps you will change your mind suddenly one day and ask me to show you, without even knowing what you're really asking of me. The bruises there are fading now, to a soft brown color, though some still glow yellow. The wind has picked up this month and I don't have to worry about the paradox of shorts vs. pants when it comes to hiding my pain. I want the bruises to bring you back. I imagine you, in blips and snippets of fantasies, sliding your fingers up my thighs, in that long demim skirt I love so much, with the slit almost up to my cunt. I imagine that there is a slight rise in temperature where the marks tattoo my skin and you can feel it. Or I imagine you can feel the flat smooth edges, can feel their color. You look up to meet my eyes, or to make me look at you, depending on how fast the tears are falling. No one asks how the bruises get there. They assume it's work related and that relieves me because no one has to know but you.

It's funny though, everyone thinks that maybe somehow they can help. Maybe I could love someone as much as I love you. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. Not. It all hurts too much for words, and it makes me angry I can't express myself through the gift of language passing lips...so I pound and punch and slam heavy objects onto my skin. I mark so easily, so prettily, you always told me. Smiles and rosy cheeked glances exchanged over bite marks, hickeys, scratches. When I fail to make pretty marks I slam my head against the fucking wall. Headaches, neverending...never fail to push my day to the limit.

I am raw, red, down to bare bones. And now I am only waiting to crush my own bones to powder.

 

[Worker11811]

I beg your pardon. I misjudged you.

No blood, no foul...

You didn't misjudge, per se. You read my response through the color of your emotions.

Getting angry, disgusted, or simply tired of too many years of putting up with what drains you too much so that you finally determine to be drained, if that's what it takes, for a short, intensive time.

The very first psychotherapist that I had listened to me yammer on about how I felt for nearly 30 minutes. He just sat there with a bored expression on his face. When I stopped talking long enough for him to get a word in edge-wise, he quietly responded with that quote I gave above. Then he paused for a second and he read me the riot act.

Without saying it in so many words, he called me a "cry baby". He told me some of the same things I said in my last post, only I said them in a more polite way. By the end of the session I was SO PISSED-OFF at him I could spit blood! He ordered me back to his office, bright and early the next morning. (I was in a locked ward, under Protective Custody for 48 hours.) I sat in my room that night and STEWED and STEWED!

The second session went about the same, except he handed me a piece of paper and released me. (My 48 hours was up.) On that piece of paper was the address of the local outpatient Psych. Clinic. He told me that he phoned ahead and gave them my name and that they would be expecting me to call them to make an appointment.

It took about a week for me to finally decide to do it. But, to this day, I am convinced that the doctor was putting on an act just to get me pissed-off. If he hadn't done that I probably never would have found therapy.

Sometimes, you have to get fed up.

Oh! I bet you're wondering what got me locked up in a psych ward for two days...

I used to have this nasty habit of getting stoned or liquored up and walking into path of oncoming trucks. They all missed me except the last one. I didn't get seriously hurt except for some bruised ribs. But the cop who came to the scene figured out that I had taken 3 hits of pure, uncut ecstacy. I quickly found myself in the hospital, under Protective Custody. He didn't have enough on me to have me committed for the full 30 days, due to a suicide attempt, but he did have cause to P.C. my ass until the drugs wore off.

That cop did me a favor. If he didn't have me locked up I never would have found help.

 

[mismused]

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[Worker11811]

Mostly, this is a support thread until such time as they can come to that point where they decide enough is enough, and someone to help them.

This, I realize. I've seen the inside of support groups before.

I know that there are several phases, through which people must progress. (Denial, Anger/Guilt, Bargaining, Sadness, Acceptance) People need to comiserate before they can move through the phases and take action.

People take different amounts of time to progress from the "comiseration" phase to the "action" phase.

There was the cop who gave me a break. There was the shrink who gave me the "Tough Act". There were several other people, to numerous to mention, who gave me their help and attention when I needed it. But the overall, deciding factor in coming out of my funk was the realization that, no matter how good a person's intentions are, they can't do it for you. You've got to do it yourself.

Sure, I spent more than my fair share of time sitting around in church basements, crying in my coffee but I eventually realized that *I* am the one who had to rise up out of the shit pile I wallowed in and take charge of my own life.

It is an empowering moment!

So, I guess I'm saying, in a long-winded way, that it's okay to talk about feelings and comiserate but, there comes a time when you must move on. With all of this, I hope that at least one person will be able to see that there IS a way out.

If just ONE person reading this gets himself/herself on the path of recovery I will be happy.

 

[mismused]

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[ABSTRUSE]

I can't stop it.

 

[rgraham666]

I can't stop it.

*HUGS* Abs.

 

[Misty_Morning]

deleted

 

[ABSTRUSE]

Its the coat I can never take off.

 

[English Lady]

*hugs* Abs we love you

 

[Fallenfromgrace]

Abs, you know my thoughts, i dont know what you need, a hug, a kiss, a cry, a rant...but i hope that you seek whatever it is you need. And if its something that we, here can give, you know we will. Im sure i speak for everyone.

It's hard, i know it is. I've byno means stopped- i've paused.

You're surrounded by people who care, even if most of those people are online- in different countries, on different continents. I hope you feel our arms around you, i feel many peoples around me.

<3