I have done many things bad to myself that I cannot even understand. A lot of them are like strange habits that don't cause any severe lasting damage, but cause me little bits of pain that for some reason it is like I am addicted to. The ways of doing this self-harm or self-pain have varied and come and gone over my life so far. Some lasted only a short while and usually ended when someone started to notice and I was too ashamed and then hid or quit the behavior, and some became frightening because they actually were dangerous.
Well, my brain said to myself...omg! do i really do that...are my "habits" as I refer to them really self-harm. But I know like many other coping mechanisms that I am not alone, and I am not weird or dangerous, I have just developed a mechanism to help me feel, or to punish myself...in some strange way to make me feel better. The good news is that being aware of them may not make me stop alltogether, but makes me recognize when I am doing it and then I have the choice to stop, and many times do stop...for that moment.
The earliest behavior and the one that is hardest for me to talk about (the most embarassing or shameful) is hair pulling. When I was about 4 or 5 one day I was laying down for a nap and I happened to pull on my eyelashes and notice that a few came out. I felt up there and felt that there were many more. So I kept at it, wincing and tearing, and even feeling some happiness at doing this....some of them hurt, some not. If you are careful you can get the whole root out and all.
Well, after my nap I went downstairs...The HORROR of the look I got from both of my parents (one being the abuser) was enough to make me want to DIE (yes, actually die at that age). They told me everyonen would think there was something wrong with me...and what was wrong with me...WHY WOULD YOU DO SUCH A THING???? My mom told me it would be okay this time, but if I ever pulled one again that it would take seven years to grow back. Kindergarten was starting next week....she wanted to know how I was going to feel, what was I going to tell the other kids. You can imagine how hard that first day was...I sat on the front porch sobbing waiting for the bus. But, she said I had to go...I did it to myself.
That taught me...I started doing it to my head, then I realized that eventually someone might notice that...because sometimes it was clumps instead of just strands. *sigh. I still do it, sometimes, but in places i shave...where no one will notice. If I can't get them out myself, sometimes I even get tweezers. It is bad I know, because it actually hurts...but it has become somewhat of an addiction or comfort.
My only hope in telling this story is that sharing will help others know that they are okay and they are not alone. And hopefully that someone else will feel like they can tell whatever they want and it will be okay too...and because admitting a secret for some reason helps.
