:trig:
Right.
I can trace my Self Harming back to maybe 4 or 5. I can very clearly my parents going at it having a full blown domestic, things being thrown about, shouting, swearing, hitting. I remember standing just outside the door way of the room they were arguing in banging my head against the wall repeatedly. A proper stone wall too. I remember it hurting, but I kept on going for some reason. I think at even that tender age I realized that pain could be a bit of a distraction to life’s problems.
My early years at primary school weren’t too brilliant for me either. I had a habit of escaping. I’m told that one day I made my way to a live rail way and was found sitting on the tracks, crying. I guess going by that maybe you could say my first sui attempt was at 5 or so? :D
Anyway, my parents ended up breaking up when I was 7 or so and long story short, I said goodbye to the nice house that I had grown up in, I said goodbye to the school that I eventually learned not to run away from and the friends that I had and ended up in a rough council estate and the type of school you’d associate with it. In truth, it wasn’t that bad I had friends and was relatively accepted.
Things went down south when I went to Secondary school. I had immensely bad anger issues. Mix this with me being chubby and being a little weird (like googling ‘How to take over the world’ in IT lessons) I was made a target of by bullies. I made things worse by my inability to keep my mouth shut, so I’d wind these bullies up, but then when it came to crunch time I wouldn’t fight back because I was scared of hurting my hands!
My SH started again at maybe 11/12, again, completely unaware of what I was doing as why. I’d run a piece of string through my teeth/gums and kept on until I tasted blood. I can remember now that I was addicted to the feeling of my heart going a mile a minute and endorphins flowing.
At around this time I went into some vague counselling and ‘Anti Bullying’ rubbish to try and control my anger and It worked. Sort of. All it did was meant that my anger was bottled up and I would release it at stupid times at people who didn’t really deserve it, namely my mother and brothers at home. Many times have I COMPLETELY trashed my room in anger.
Then at 13/14 I graduated to cutting and began cutting the skin off of the soles of my feet. To be honest, I don’t know why I did it.
I didn’t do that for too long. I was ‘bullied’, mocked and wound up for the rest of my time at secondary school. I was looking forward to going to college and getting my chance at a clean slate where I could reinvent myself.
And I did! I got in with the popular crowd, I was invited out to go shopping and go to parties, and talk to girls (I went to an all boys school so I’m not well versed in that subject ;)) and generally did stuff that I never thought I’d do, but I still wasn’t happy.
At around this time my best friend and the only person from school I kept in contact with began to S/H. I gave it a go with and let’s just say, I wasn’t impressed. I didn’t see the point what so ever. It didn’t help me cope any better at college (funnily enough, there wasn’t anything to cope with, but that’s by the by), I ended up dropping out.
Just after dropping out, I remember me and my mum having an argument. I stormed to my room with thoughts of wrecking it, but for whatever reason a tool was lying around and it caught my eye. Instead of wrecking my bedroom, getting kicked out of the house and having to do the entire begging act to get back inside, I took that tool and I cut myself instead. I used it to release all of the tension and anger that was just about to boil over, and it was great. It then became my coping method for my anger very, very occasionally.
One day I was wearing a short sleeve t shirt around the house and my mum noticed the scars and completely flipped out. I told her that I got them from working on a car, but I know she knows. The only time she brought it up was one day a few years ago, I’m again in short sleeves with hear waiting to collect a pizza, she looks at my arms and said ‘It’s a real shame you had to do THAT to your arms’ which knocked me back a bit, especially seeing how completely random the comment was. She’s never spoken to me about it (which is surprising, I thought she would be quite open minded, even though I don’t want to talk about it). My dad is... well... not a very nice person (that’s the only way I can describe him without breaking the swear filter :p). He knows too. We were at a pool club when he pulled up the sleeves of my shirt, pointed out the scars and asked ‘What are these? Do you cut yourself’. I remember it being just about the most awkward situation. He’s never brought it up since, but we don’t speak. Anyway, I’m rambling.
I’ve never been a particularly happy person in my teenage years. I’ve had a couple of rubbish attempts at sui in the period above as well. It’s always the same things. Anger, loneliness and complete and utter self loathing.
The SUI thoughts have never left and lately, they’ve come back with a vengeance. I can’t remember a day where I haven't had an urge. Yesterday I SH’d for the first time not out of anger, but as a coping mechanism and I’ve followed in the foot steps of my father and taken to drinking maybe a little more than I should.
I certainly hope that this isn’t the beginning of an even darker stage of my life
.