A man named Carl.

“My cat got me again.” I said, mentally rehearsing my lines for when somebody asked me about the evenly spaced lines on my inner arm.  

But I can’t lie.  I lived much of my life having to hide my pain, lying to those who couldn’t understand, to protect myself.  And I decided several years ago that, if they couldn’t handle the truth, that was on them… not me.  I could no longer bear the burdens of my story of pain, and carry guilt alongside as well.  It was too much, and not right.

So if anybody asked, “I did it. I took a knife to my arm.”

***long pause***

A few months later, I sat by myself at the edge of the water, my feet sinking into the sand of the little beach.  I sat there crying for what felt like hours, because it was hours.  On the dock not far away, an older gentleman sat, swinging his legs over the side and staring into the water.   Grown-up me felt ashamed, and held back my sobbing as best I could.  But the child in me wished with all her heart he would hear her, and come over to offer comfort.

More time passed.  More tears were added to the waves lapping at my ankles. 

Eventually he got up to go home.  As he walked behind and past me towards his beach chair and towel, he must’ve heard my crying.  He turned back and stooped down where I sat in tears, and asked if I was okay.

And we talked.  

To a complete stranger, I shared my heart.  Bits and pieces of my story trickled out, disorganized and fragmented.  But somehow he also heard the words in between- the words that I didn’t have the strength to say.  And he understood.

I told him of my pain.  I told him of my past eating disorders.  I told him of my heartache.  And I told him I was so upset I took knives to my arm at times.

And he said, “I did that too.”

He didn’t scold me.  He didn’t panic.  He didn’t tell me I needed (more) help.  He simply said “I did that too.” 

It’s okay to not be okay.  It’s not something to hide, and it’s not something to be shamed for.  It’s human.

Most people, say 99.99%, don’t understand self-harm.  They think it’s a logical, planned action intended to hurt yourself.  Loved ones go so far as to yell at you to stop, no doubt terrified by the horror of what you’ve done to yourself.  

But it’s not planned.  And it’s certainly not intended to be painful and harmful, even if it really, truly is. 

Cutting is just one form of self-harm.  Burning with heat or water, pulling out your hair, or scratching yourself are a few others. Even alcohol and drug abuse fall into this category. These are all one in the same, and all “simply” a harmful way to cope with overwhelming emotions of distress.  If someone cuts, they are drowning in despair.

Often self harm is a way of trying to cope with the pain of strong emotions, intensely mounting pressure, or upsetting relationships- feelings that all seem too difficult to bear. For some, it's an expression of strong feelings like sorrow, rejection, desperation, longing, loneliness, or emptiness.   Whatever the background, it’s done in search of a temporary sense of relief.

The urge to harm oneself can be triggered by strong feelings the person can't express — such as anger, hurt, shame, frustration, or alienation.  Often, individuals who turn to self harm never developed coping mechanisms to help manage suffering, and simply don’t know how to handle intense feelings of angst.

Cutting (and other self-harm behaviors) is not something a person thinks about ahead of time- it’s irrational and impulsive.  Some people who cut have had traumatic experiences in the past or are dealing with them currently, such as living through illness, pain, violence, or a disaster.  The pain inflicted physically may act as a way of temporarily reliving the emotional pain they went through, expressing anger over it, or trying to get attention and help.

Deep down, no one hurts themselves to actually hurt themselves.  I certainly didn’t.  It was the only way I knew how to express the intensity of the pain on the inside, on the outside where it could be seen and interpreted.

Does it work?  

I’d be lying if I wrote this post as nothing more than to discourage someone from harming themselves.  Certainly it’s a truly horrible thing to do, and the reasons behind someone doing this are inexplicable.  

But yes, there is a temporary relief.  A rush of endorphins and adrenaline surge through your body and numb you.  Is it something that helps long term? Absolutely not.  It brings remorse, guilt, grief, discouragement, shame, embarrassment, and more pain.  No one who cuts believes it to be a good idea.

But if you cut, you already know all of this.  

I’m not writing to tell you to stop.  I believe it will stop when it’s ready to stop, or you learn a better way to tend your broken soul- whichever comes first.  I’m writing to share my story, and tell you I understand.  

And I am writing to tell you that it’s okay to be honest and ask for help in life. I am deeply sorry for what you are going through, and do believe that whatever you are going through, you can overcome and heal from it.   It can take a long time to overcome cutting or other kinds of self-injury. But a good therapist will be able to earn your trust and help you get through it and find inner strengths to help you heal.

Carl said to me, “This will pass”.  And as he walked away, he said “I sure hope you never give up.”

Carl didn’t judge me.  He didn’t point out the obvious- that it wasn’t a good way to deal with pain.  He didn’t carry on about antidepressants or tell me to go to the hospital.  

He cared, he listened, and he saw my pain as it really was- not the fading marks on my arm.