Tag: self mutilation

Ignorance Must Be Blissful

Hello everyone!

I don’t know how familiar you are with the concept of Pinterest, but for those of you in the dark, allow me to shed some light on the subject. Pinterest is a website/app where people can find funny, relatable, educational, or inspirational pictures, and “pin” them so their followers can legally stalk them see what they’re up to or interested in st the time. Subject matter ranges from photography, fails, memes, recipes, self help, humor, etc. Imagine it, I’m you can find it. Anyway, when you click on a picture, it will give you similar ones in the general category you’re looking into. I have a point to all of this, I swear.
So, like many others, I have a Pinterest account. I mostly use it to stalk celebrities find funny pictures to brighten my day and waste time.

Until tonight. Tonight, I’ve stumbled across something that truly makes me I’ll. I won’t be posting the picture, as I do not want to draw more attention to the image itself, but I do want to draw attention on the subject matter.

The image features the wrist of a young girl, fresh, red blood pools on her skin. There appears to be razor marks as well, indicating self harm. I hate seeing pictures like this to begin with, but the message accompanying the image is what disturbs me. “I’ve been diagnosed with depression, give me 100 repins and I swear I’ll stop.”

There are so many problems with this post, I’m not even really sure where to properly begin.

One, I understand not everyone is a psychologist/psychiatrist, and not everyone has a mental illness, or understands how they work. But depression does not automatically mean you’re obligated to become a cutter.

Two, cutting is the physical manifestation of an abstract, illogical, emotional pain. It is a wound on your soul now made visible. Why would anyone photograph this for the sole purpose of showing it to anyone, let alone the internet?

I’m a cutter, but unless I want you to see it, you’ll never know it’s happened. I am guilty of taking pictures, but not for show and tell. I take them so I can look back, and remember the pain. Remember what led to the scars. Try to keep myself from doing it again. So far, it does seem to work.

Three, self harm is not something to mock, or take lightly. It is a problem, and doing it for attention only discredits those of us with a real problem. Doing it because you want people to pity you, or because you want the romantic image of the man of your dreams kissing your scars, are not proper reasons to harm yourself.

The reality of self harm is not romantic, or beautiful. It’s disgusting, and shameful, for the person doing the harming. It means constantly having to make wardrobe changes to cover the scars, or new wounds, and often times being uncomfortable.

It means having to constantly feel everyone’s eyes on you, and knowing they’re judging you in some way (be it pity or otherwise).

It means people touching your scars and constantly having to answer the question of “what happened to your arm?”

Boys don’t place loving kisses along your arm and tell you how beautiful they are, and even if they did, why would you mark up your own body just for that? Some guys have a feces fetish, are you going to eat shit next to impress the menfolk? (Sorry to anyone reading who might have a shit fetish)

Four, why would anyone repin something like this? Again, I understand a lot of people are ignorant to the world of mental illness, and perhaps you think you’re doing good, but you’re actually enabling more harm. 
Say this girl is real, and she does have a cutting problem. She sees people fawning all over her, and giving her the attention she so craves. It won’t stop. She’ll cut again, post again, to gain even more likes and followers. So begins a nasty, never-ending cycle.

If you really want to help people who self harm, talk to them when they’re ready. Help them seek the help they need. Do your research, educate yourself using credible sources, and try to help. But repinning, or reposting an image will not help. It will not make the pain go away.

I, for one, grow such and tired of the lacking knowledge in this world regarding mental illness. I think it should become mandatory for all to learn about them, and stop romanticizing this stuff.

Scars can be beautiful, because they make up who you are. The pain you’ve lived through, the times when you wanted to give up but fought a little harder is evident. Don’t be ashamed, but don’t make a pubic spectacle of yourself in the process.

All of us have pain. Some of us wear it visibly, others keep it hidden and tucked away.

I also urge you, my readers, to educate yourself. Ask questions, learn from others, be understanding, but don’t be blinded.

If you are a cutter, I also urge you to try your best to find an alternative. It’s easier said than done, I know, but try.

Thank you all for reading, and I hope I’ve helped a little.

I Wear My Emotions on my Sleeve

100 Writings in 100 Days

October 18, 2014

Writing # 3

My hands began to shake with anticipation as I lifted the razor from its hiding place. A thousand different emotions washed through me as I stared upon its gleaming blade. Cutting was always a last resort for me. Each time the blade left a line on my skin, I felt like I had failed myself and others around me. A lot goes through my mind as I press the blade ever closer, such as how to cover up the deed I was about to do.

I would have to trade all of my undershirts for t-shirts for a few days until the wounds healed enough to not stand out too badly from the others. Whatever I used to clean the wounds would have to be disposed of in the dead of night when I knew everyone was asleep. Most importantly, the razorblade had to be hidden in such a way that no one could find it but me.

I felt the first stabbing pain as the razor sliced my skin open, and the first trickle of blood began its journey down my arm. Then something caught my eye. I turned to look, and saw a pen sitting on the nightstand beside my bed. For a moment, the task at hand disappeared as I stared at the pen. New thoughts began to cross my mind.

The cuts on my arms do make me feel better. They turn an emotional pain into a physical one, and physical wounds can be taken care of and heal properly. The message they convey to others, however, does not even begin to scratch the surface of emotions I felt when I made the marks to begin with. When people look upon my scars, they look with disgust. They look with pitying eyes, or judgmental ones. They look upon me with sorrow, and wonder if they could have helped prevent it. They look upon me with worry, or curiosity. The worst one for me, however, is those who look upon my actions as “childish”, or “attention seeking”, when all I really wanted was to find a little peace within myself. Everyone wants to ask, but few are brave enough to hear the answers I’d give them. Truth be told, I’m not sure I am capable of physically telling them all that runs through my head.

The wounds convey all that is negative in my life, and they are a standing reminder of the weaknesses I felt. They stand to remind me of all that I survived. I began to wonder what would happen if I could find another way.

So I picked up my pen. I set the razorblade down, and instead of carving my emotions in nonsensical scars, I began to write upon my skin. Words began to appear as each passing thought inspired a new phrase to be written.

\

         Sadness
Betrayal
Anger
Pain
Hope
Heal
Want Peace
Alone
Lonely
Need Help
Be Proud
Love
Regret
Mistakes
Broken

                The words began to take a whimsical appearance as I gained confidence. I felt a strange peace begin to grow within me, similar to how I feel when I cut. I was shocked and amazed, so I wrote that as well.

                Confidence
Desire
Longing
Need
Happiness
This, too, shall pass

                When words left me, I drew patterns and pictures, abstract lines that crisscrossed and formed something beautiful. What once was a terrible and dark practice had turned into an art piece. Instead of everyone wondering what precisely I was feeling when I did this, the words were written plainly for all to see.

The pen is mightier than the sword, and we sometimes forget just how powerful words can be. I had forgotten that I am, and will always be, a writer. I have the tools around me to help, and it doesn’t always have to result in mutilation of my body.

By the time I was done and had set the pen aside, I stared upon to words and tried to memorize each of them. I went into the bathroom and washed them off, and no red mark remained. I would not spend the next few days worrying if my sleeve was raised too high, or scratching as they healed. I looked at myself in the mirror, and saw peace in my eyes.