Children & Self Harm/Scars

I know that some people feel that self harm needs to be hidden, that those who don't hide their scars merely harm for attention; and I know others that believe self harm should be hidden from children even if there's no shame attached to it. I don't believe that. I think it's important to protect children but I don't think that hiding the dirty parts of reality is the best way to do that.

My family are halfway between those. I know they're ashamed of my scars, and they don't believe I should wear clothing that makes them visible. I know also that my family cares deeply about my nieces and my nephew, that we all want to protect them and give them the best start we can. Unfortunately, those two things together mean that I don't have permission to be honest with my nieces and nephew.

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not at all proposing that it would be appropriate or acceptable to tell a toddler that "aunty cuts herself to feel better" or anything of the sort. These things need to be explained in an age appropriate manner, and there are a lot of considerations involved. However, at some point, you have to recognise that a child isn't going to be satisfied with "it was an accident" or an outright lie, and at 10 and 7, the miracle was that my nieces hadn't yet been unsatisified with the answers they were receiving.

I worried, I researched. I told my brother he needed to talk to his (now ex) wife and tell me how much they were comfortable with me sharing. I'm still waiting for the okay, my nieces are still being fobbed off with "I got hurt", and they want more.

I wear an arm sleeve, a leg sleeve, a pair of bike pants and a stomach patch (when I can find it) -- if I want to go, for example swimming, I can't wear any of these. If I want to wash the dishes, I have to take my arm sleeve off... and this is the situation I found myself facing a week ago at my brother's house.

My niece asked a few questions, I answered as best I can given the limitation of sticking to what my brother and his (ex) wife have decreed is acceptable, and my beautiful girl wasn't satisfied. She asked more and more and instead of accepting that his daughter is showing a healthy level of curiosity, my brother sent her to her room because he and I had run out of lies to fob her off with.

I have a response that I am far more comfortable with, I just need permission to use it. In a world where I could get my family to accept that my scars aren't going to disappear, that I don't do this because I like the attention or that I'm out to show the world what a terrible home life I have because I'm a vindictive bitch, I would tell my niece something much closer to the truth. In a world where I have permission to be honest, this is what I would tell my nieces (and maybe my nephew as well):

Remember last time you got sick, and the doctor looked at your throat and listened to your heart to see what was wrong? Sometimes people get sick inside their brain and you can't see it on their bodies. Aunty is sick like that and I have been for a long time. Sometimes it's like I'm not sick at all but sometimes I get very sick and I do things that mean my body gets hurt.

It's age appropriate. It's easy to understand. They can ask questions that I can actually answer in age appropriate ways. Instead of shame and blame, they learn understanding. It opens the door for me to reassure them, and it opens the door for the future when they may deal with mental illness themselves. And above all, it's honest. It means I'm not lying to a child who's going to one day realise and wonder why and what else everyone's lied to her about.

What about you? What are your thoughts on children and SI scars/injuries? What will or have you said to the children in your life about your self harm/scars - or what have you said about someone else's? Does it (or would it) change if you were having to explain new injuries or old scars?

Take care of yourselves until next time, and may we all find our own small fences along the way.

Turbulent Waters: I'm Really Not After A Miracle!

It's no secret that life's been a bit of a rough trot here, lately. Part of that is due to circumstances in my life right now/recently, part of it is not having medication that works properly, and another part is not having a large enough support network offline.

Whatever the reasons, though, the end result is the same: I've been struggling for a while, and things aren't getting better on their own. After yet another bout of what's being termed "severe self harm", my doctor last week decided to push for me to be seen at the free mental health clinic again. I told myself I wouldn't allow myself to hold out too much hope for a better outcome than last time, I told myself that I would be okay if/when nothing came of it.

Everyone else was so sure something would come of it. Surely. Surely, they had to see that I wasn't making it on my own now. It's been just under a year since I was closed off the books, a year since I did DBT. I've been using my skills, even this blog itself is proof of that. I fight every day to be okay. Surely they had to listen now. I started to let my hopes rise. And then I was given an intake appointment.

So I began to get more invested in the outcome. I began to believe that I had a chance at getting real help again. And then the call didn't come when I expected it.

I felt let down, but I told myself that maybe they were just busy. Maybe I misinterpreted what Intake had said, that I'd got it wrong and that they would call at a later date. A few days after I had originally expected the call, I was about to head out when my mobile rang.

"Hi C, it's [old case manager] here from mental health."

My heart skipped a beat. This was the case manager I'd worked with prior to DBT; the one I'd worked really well with and trusted. I thought she might be calling to say she'd be my case manager again.

"I just wanted to let you know what the Intake team have decided about your case. Now, you've done DBT. You clearly don't want to stop self harming, there's nothing more we can do for you. You know there's no miracle cure, medication isn't going to fix you. We have decided not to take you on."

I was gutted. Crushed. The crushed hopes were bad enough alone, but to have them crushed like that by [old case manager] was like being told by Santa Claus that he wasn't even going to bother leaving you coal. A few minutes of silence followed where I fought my tears before she added insult to injury with,

"What did you even expect to come of this? What do you want?"
"I... I don't know. I-"
"Exactly. So, bye then. Good luck with everything."

I was hurt. Betrayed. Crushed. Gutted. Afraid. For a little while I was even furious. Not just angry but actually furious! How could they? I have fought so hard for so long. I try so hard, I have made so many changes. My feelings were a confused jumble of negative emotions and I cried fairly hard at first. I pulled myself together and left for my appointments, but the emotions didn't go away. They're still right there, because this is a big hurt.

It got bigger when I went to report back to my doctor and found that mental health had got there first and read him the riot act about how manipulative Borderlines are. My formerly supportive doctor greeted me with "do you even want to stop self harm? How much?" then proceeded to tell me again that there is no miracle cure, and told me that since I have done DBT mental health are not interested in wasting their time or mine.


I am tired of being told that there is no miracle cure. I am not looking for one! I'm not afraid to put in the hard work, I've been doing that. It's not working (enough). I know medication makes a difference for me, when it works. I know that. Why won't anybody in a position to do anything about it listen to that?

Dear mental health professionals,
Please, stop assuming that because I happen to have a label with a bad rap, I fit what that label means to you. Please stop assuming that wanting medication that works for me is synonymous with "I want a miracle cure". Please stop assuming that because I'm struggling to stop self harm it means I don't want to. Please stop assuming that I have manipulated my GP into advocating for my treatment. Please just stop making harmful assumptions about me!

I'm asking for help, not a cure. If I didn't have the BPD label, you would be falling all over yourselves to help me. Your labels are supposed to be there to help, not hinder, my treatment.


And now, since mental health is again a non-option, we're back to square one. Where do I go from here? It's so tempting to give up - all the professionals have, why shouldn't I?

Because when I give up, there'll be no chance for it to get better. And because I deserve better than that. I am getting a psychologist referral, and I will take my 6-12 free sessions and do what I can with that. It's better than nothing.

And so I go on putting one foot in front of the other and doing my best to get through each day however it comes. Imperfectly, certainly, but until I can move (something that I can't do until I receive the money from my settlement over my knee which is currently held up due to an error) it's my best option.


Challenge and cheerleading statements:
* Things are not as hopeless as they seem. This isn't forever.
* This situation does not reflect my value.
* I deserve better than to give up on myself.


Take care of yourselves until next time, and may we all find our own small fences along the way.

An Achievement

It's Monday. I'm just posting a real short one tonight, with very little substance except to say...

I DID IT!

One month self harm free. One entire month.

And maybe that seems small to others, but for me, that's an enormous achievement. That's the longest I've gone without self harm since I broke my knee (and even that was 'forced' because my mother was showering me for that time out of concern I'd accidentally cause more damage to my knee in the shower), and before that, the longest I've gone since I was married.


Today is also the first time in a long time that I've not had a single wound dressing of some kind.


Until next time, take care of yourselves, and may we all find our own small fences along the way.

Kam kam, ruz be ruz

Today's title came from my dear friend Sonya. It's an Arabic saying that means "little by little, day by day", and applies primarily to this first section of today's post.

During a discussion about self harm (expounded upon in the bottom half of this entry), my friend bought a quote by Chuang Tzu to the metaphoric table:

Easy is right. Begin right and you are easy. Continue easy and you are right. The right way to go easy is to forget the right way and forget that the going is easy.

I got confused attempting to follow it, but once my friend explained that it was about finding your authentic flow (aka "your true gut knowledge") and going with it; and that when you authentically struggle (as opposed to superficially struggling), it means you are headed in the wrong direction.

It's an interesting idea, but requires you to be able to hear your true gut knowledge -- and I'm just not there, yet. I'm still trying to get to know who I am at all. I get lost on where I begin; I struggle to identify what is fundamentally 'me' and what is merely a by-product of the answers I give to please others or get urges/desires/'needs' met.

And, as Sonya pointed out, maybe that's what I need to be focusing on at the moment. Instead of trying to be this incredible, wise, "together" person, maybe I just need to take it little by little and concentrate on finding the basics of who I am, and once I know that, then I can refine who that person is.


As for the second part of my post, I'll spoiler this here and now. It is self harm focused, quite frank and mildly graphic.




Yesterday, as I mentioned, was a difficult day. For the 4th time in just over a week, I needed stitches: my doctor was, understandably, not very happy with me. For the first time in his treatment of me, he spoke to me only twice. The first time, he asked if I was planning to do more to myself "at the moment"; the second, all he said to me was "remember what I said last time?", then he turned to the nurse and continued, "if she needs anything tomorrow or in the next few weeks, call Holly". He stitched me up without another word to me then walked out.

I admit, I don't generally interact a whole lot with my doctor at the best of times, and I've never actually 'needed' him to warn me that the anaesthetic will sting; or to check that I'm not feeling anything as he puts the stitches in... but he's never before neglected to do either.

I felt rejected, betrayed. I felt abandoned. My head understands that he needs me to get used to seeing other doctors, but all my heart saw was that he has effectively dropped me because I 'failed'. I recognise that my heart and my head are in contention, and I recognise that the truth lies far more in my head than my heart, but I still need to go that next step and bring the two to alignment. I need to find Wise Mind.

After I got home, I had a very interesting discussion with two of my good friends. We have talked before about my self harm, and my inability (unwillingness?) to admit that it is "severe". At this point, I'm uncertain about why I still do it - most of the time it brings little relief and I already know that it creates more problems than it solves. And still, I do it anyway.

I have learnt to reason my way out of almost anything, as long as others aren't involved. During DBT, my therapist and I butted heads over the self harm thing time and time again. She couldn't get her head around why I would seek medical attention if I didn't view my self harm as severe; and I do understand that to a point. On the other hand, though, I have seen first hand the effects of a nasty Staph infection -- and how easily it spreads. I'm not at all bothered by the idea of having such an infection myself (apart from the thought of the resultant antibiotics!). What I'm not comfortable with, though, is the thought of being responsible for someone else contracting it. And that, purely and simply, is why I show up time and again to get my wounds taken care of - because I know that if I don't, I do get infections.

But I digress; I was talking about severity and self harm. I justify it to myself, telling myself that I don't really "need" those stitches. I have never had a wound so deep that to not get stitches would endanger my life. I tell myself that my burns can't be all that terrible - after all, I've never required a skin graft. I've never broken a bone through self harm, I've never given myself concussion, never actually required immediate first aid. My head tells me that, the way things stand, my self harm cannot possibly be 'severe'. And yet... my heart says, "this isn't right".

If I don't feel pain, it's because (to my mind), I obviously haven't done enough damage. If I do feel pain, I am weak and pathetic - "anybody else wouldn't even blink at this". Somewhere in me I know this is wrong. I know that if you don't feel anything from a wound, it is generally a sign of nerve damage or at least of dissociation/disconnection from the body. I know this... but I can't get myself to see it as applying to me.

My head and my heart are in contention again, and ironically, if my friends' perceptions are accurate, this time it is my heart that is right. How did I get so desensitised? What will it take to open my eyes?



Today's thought challenges/cheer-leading statements:
If my friend chooses to remove me from her life, it does not necessarily mean I have done something wrong.
My doctor has not abandoned me.
I am not a bad person.
All things pass when we let them. This will, too, as long as I choose to allow that.
I can't change things I may have done in the past, but I can make different choices in the future.



Take care of yourselves until next time, and may we all find our own small fences along the way.