The addicting outlet

(Trigger warning; post about self harm)

I first self harmed when I was fifteen years old. Looking back now I don't remember the reason why I made those first cuts.

My care coordinator questions me around this, she's looking for some sort of trauma that hit me at that age to start it off. 

But for me it wasn't a trauma or a life event that made me start self harming, it was just something I did. I wasn't terribly happy at the time but again, for no specific reason. Looking back I know I was a teenager and I probably felt emotions and didn't know how to deal with them, so cutting was my outlet. 

The problem with self harm, in whatever form it takes, is that it is hugely addictive.

I've heard many healthcare professionals say that they cannot understand what would take someone to the point of wanting to mutilate their own body. I think to myself good for you that you can't understand, that means you've never had that level of mental torment. Or, maybe, you could argue they handle their emotions in a more positive way, who knows. 

For me, self harm takes the form of cutting and burning, and the addiction is real. 

I think the pain is quite nice, physical pain can momentarily relieve the mental pain.

But it is about more than just the pain, it's something I can't even put into words. 

Having been addicted in the past to tablets containing speed, I would like self harm almost to the hold drugs can have over a person. 

You can have every good intention, every will in the world, but when push comes to shove self harm is like a familiar friend, a warm invitation that you recognise and know. Something incredibly hard to break away from. 

My care coordinator recently asked me if I feel ashamed or embarrassed about the scars I have. She asked this gesturing to the burns on my hands and scars on the inside of my arms. 

I think she wanted me to say yes I would be humiliated if someone saw them. - if I had said this, maybe she would have used this as a reason for me to stop.

But I said no, and that's the truth. I'm not ashamed of any scars or burn marks I have. 

I wish I could have got this far in my life without self harming but I don't believe that was possible so I have these marks on me, but I'm also still here. So no, I'm not ashamed. 

Nobody should be ashamed of self harm because it is natural to need to find ways to cope, and not all ways are deemed 'healthy', but at least you're still here. 

Do not feel pity

I don't write this blog so that anyone feels pity for me, or sorrow. That's the last thing I want.

This blog is to try and raise awareness on mental health issues, make people more open and comfortable talking about them.

Of course when people message me kind words of comfort and motivation it means so much to me and I am grateful.

I have lived a life that's been wonderful in so many ways, and I have been very lucky in many ways.

So nobody need pity me that I now have a mental illness. 

Because anyone of any walk of life can become mentally unwell, and it doesn't matter that it's happened to me, because I am more than happy with the hand I was dealt before this situation arose. 

If one day this mental illness kills me, then sorrow will not be needed because I will have had a life so full of love that there is no room for sadness. 

Far too often, people with mental health issues die and sadly suicide is often the cause. 

I hope this blog will make people think more about mental health, about stigma and about the damage these illnesses can do.

Mental health illnesses know no discrimination, they affect people of every race, religion, gender, sexuality. People of every single walk of life.

I hope the world continues to make the progress it has been slowly making in the recent years. 

The voice of an eating disorder

I have spent years longing to be able to eat whatever I feel like eating. People sometimes may the mistake of thinking someone with an eating disorder just does not like food, but this is so wrong.

I LOVE food. I just can't let myself eat it.

I love macaroni cheese, garlic bread, fish and chips, lasagne, spaghetti bolognese, chilli con carne.. and these are probably the type of foods that many people eat regularly.

I know these aren't particularly 'unhealthy' meals. I remember my parents making spag bol, chilli, lasagne, fish pie, all sorts of meals for our family dinners every night. 

I used to eat them every night, and it was more than okay. 

But now, I can't imagine what it would even feel like to eat a meal like that. 

On the rare occasion I eat something I deem as 'bad', then follows days of more laxatives than usual and more restriction than usual. To ensure I lose whatever I may have gained in that one 'bad' meal.

It's so complicated in my mind because I know logically how weight, metabolism etc works.

But logic means nothing when I have a constant voice in my head telling me I can't eat that, I can't eat this, I have to lose more weight, keep pushing keep pushing.

I long to eat whatever I crave that day. When I walk through supermarket aisles I long to just pick up whatever takes my fancy. Instead of looking at the food and then hearing a voice saying no you can't eat that. It has too many calories. Walk away. 

I long to eat with my friends and my family, to be able to eat the same meal that my family eat. 

I long to silence the voice. To be completely free of the voice. 

But the voice is part of me, a part that I don't think will ever leave. 

When you think about it, it's who I am. It defines my very being. I am my eating disorder. 

Perdition

Every day is the same. Every day is endless. 

I really have found a new meaning to the saying 'same shit, different day'. 

I sit for hours on end, in the same spot on my sofa, with no energy at all to move. It can take several minutes to even muster energy to reach for the light switch or pick up my phone. 

It makes me feel pathetic, like a shell of a human being.

Everything is broken. 

I long desperately to wake up and feel the energy I used to feel. I long for a medication, a therapy, anything that makes me feel alive.

I wonder, did I sin something awful in a past life? Is this my punishment, my perdition? 

Suicide

Suicide is something that has always been somewhat taboo in society. Even now, in the 21st century, people who end their own lives are often called 'selfish'. 

Many individuals cannot understand why someone would want to complete suicide. 

Personally I do not agree that suicide should be a taboo subject. As human beings, we need to be more understanding and accepting towards the fact that there are situations where people feel no other option than to end their life.

Suicide is something that crosses my mind every single day. How to do it, when to do it, who it would affect. 

I have thought for hours upon end of the different methods, the most likely to succeed, the method that would leave the least-traumatising scene for someone to find. 

When depression really has a hold on you, it is like your mind isn't your own anymore. Something else has control of your mind, and someone who may have never had thoughts of self harm before, is now thinking of ways to end their own life.

Depression, eating disorders, any form of mental health problem, have the power and ability to reduce you to a shell of your former self. And have the power to leave you feeling like death is the only way out. 

This is by no means me writing a 'goodbye' post or anything like that. I just simply think the world needs to strive towards a place where mental illness is more understood. A world where the stigma that mental illness brings with it is erased. That way maybe, hopefully, people going through difficulties would feel less alone.

Snowballs

Mental health difficulties can start as something trivial, something small. They can come up out of no where, sometimes you don't even notice they are there at first. 

But then, they can snowball.

They can fast become the sole, dominant feature in your life. 

When depression and my eating disorder really took over my life, it was as if overnight I barely knew who I was anymore. 

I went from being confident and popular, having an active social life, to feeling repulsed by my own existence. 

I was on a university course I enjoyed, had lots of lovely friends and a steadfast relationship. 

You could easily have looked at my life and said I had nothing to be depressed about.

But no matter what you plan for yourself in life, your own mental health may decide it's got a different plan for you. 

The human brain is undoubtedly one of the most complex and spectacular things in the world, but it's also the thing that makes your body turn on itself. 

How do you battle with your own brain?

Is it possible to re-programme yourself? 

For me, living with depression and an eating disorder is like living every day with the person I dislike the most in the world. Every day they are the first person I see, the only person I cannot escape from. 

How do you fight that?

Beelzebub

When people ask me to explain what I feel it's very difficult to put into words. 

The most accurate way to describe my feelings is that it is as if a demon lives in my body, and sometimes the demon sleeps and sometimes he is awake. 

When the demon sleeps I can feel a little more alive, I can function and manage to go to the supermarket or manage to watch television or do a crossword. Unfortunately the demon only really likes the power nap every now and again. 

When the demon is awake it is as if my mind is controlled by him and the darkness floods in. These are the times where thoughts of hurting myself or ending my life are most intense.

I have named the demon Beelzebub, after Binsfeld's classification of demons. Binsfeld named Beelzebub as one of the princes of hell. 

Now, logically I know I do not have a demon living within me. But it is the best way I can find to describe the feeling that I have lost control of my mind. 

The density of depression

I know many people in my life struggle to grasp what depression is truly like, which is understandable if they have not experienced it. They are sweet, kind and caring, but in many ways completely out of their depth. Which is, again, understandable and I too am completely out of my depth. I think depression is only really understood by those who have been through it. The exhaustion, the dense and never ending feeling of darkness, the numbness but yet intense pain at the same time, the self loathing, the invasive, demanding, overwhelming thoughts of a way out. How can these things be understood unless you have felt them engulf your soul, unless you have felt them erupt through your very being. The density of depression is excessive and absolutely shattering. All you can do is somehow get through each day and hope a brighter day is around the corner.