I used to be a cutter way back in the day. Today you can barely see the network of trace marks left behind. I was never one to cut too deeply because it was hard to hide. Growing up as a teenager in a rural area I could always blame the vines in the woods and such if they were thin and fine. My tool of choice was a razor blade, just the ones my dad used at work in scrapers, a single edge. All I needed was a single edge.
I didn't cut too often and I always felt overwhelmed with shame and disappointment after I'd carved my arm up a bit. I usually managed to keep it down to two or three lines, but there were a few instances where I did go to town and then I'd be wearing long sleeves in the hot FL weather. But I remember that feeling, I still feel it from time to time, but it was such a burning sensation of disappointment, regret, and loathing because I couldn't control myself and I'd done it again.
But it was such a release. I didn't know how to process my emotions. I had no tools to cope with the pain I felt in my head. There were times when I felt like my head would explode because of all the raging thoughts and emotions coursing through, it was agonizing and that sharp shallow pain would focus the inner pain into that little line and as the blood welled up and over I felt the relief as they thoughts exited with my blood.
After I escaped my family the behavior became extinct and for quite some time I felt slightly stable. At least I felt so happy to be free that I allowed myself to relax and enjoy life for a bit. It did come back to haunt me rather quickly, but the cutting seemed to be a thing of the past and for the most part has. I can't remember the last time I cut myself it's been so long.
But then I picked up the nasty habit of self abusing. I would hit myself on the head with a hair brush or slam my head against the wall. It was only when I couldn't bear the inner turmoil anymore, when the rejection from my ex husband, the stress of motherhood, and the thoughts raging through my mind got the best of me I'd run into my room and beat the hell out of my head. For over a year I don't think I spent more than a few days without some lump of some sort on my head. I was just constantly hitting my head with a brush or onto the wall. I couldn't stop. It released so much tension that would otherwise boil over onto my kids.
Finally I realized I had to get help. It was just the shit icing on a turd sandwich and I forced myself to get help.
In over five years I've self harmed twice: once bashing my head into the wall and once by biting my arm. I think that's not bad though considering my past history so I pat myself (gently) on the head and keep plugging along. I'm glad to say that I'm past it, even if it is just for the time being. I hate self harming and the shame I feel for doing it. It feels good to channel the awful thoughts into something more constructive or to be able to give them a voice and speak them out before I let them harm me. I don't really know why I stopped so cold turkey both times or why I went such a long time between bouts, but I do know that I hope it's for good because it really is such a concerning behavior.
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