A Cut Above...

For many of those who live with BPD this is the most misunderstood and stigmatising aspect.

Please note, anyone who struggles with self-harm etc. may find this blog entry triggering.  There is discussion of methods so be careful.

1.      Recurrent suicidal behavior, gestures, threats or self-injuring behavior such as cutting, interfering with the healing of scars (excoriation) or picking at oneself.

Self-harm and suicide are lumped together in the diagnostic criteria, but I am going to treat them separately.  Today’s blog is about self-harm.  I might discuss suicide another day – or maybe not!  It is probably the actions and behaviours covered by this criterion that give us with BPD the reputation of being attention seeking and manipulative.  I say self-harm is not intended to be either (well not in my case anyway).  It is a way of reducing pain and distress.

The slippery slope of self-harm as a coping strategy started for me by accident when I was about 9 years old.  I was plagued by Styes on my eyelids.   One day I discovered that if at the first hint of pain I plucked the eyelash from the sore bit, the brewing stye went away.  I also found the process of plucking completely distracting from my feelings and stresses.  Very soon I was plucking my eyelashes completely and not giving them chance to grow back.

By 11 or 12 I was desperate for comfort from the isolation I felt and the sense of being invisible, and in that sense I recognise that this initial stage was a cry for attention.  However, it was not an “I want to be the centre of attention” demand, but was a cry of abandonment and pain that having been ignored for year on year, had to get louder and stronger.  To this end I tried so hard to break my own arm – and failed.  In my attempts I caused some bruising the pain of which made me feel more alive and calmer.  If I hurt I existed.  I was able to survive outside my own imaginary world where love, care and feeling safe were the norm for a while.  This on-going stress relief was always done in secret.

At 16 I saw a documentary about teenage alcoholism on television.  The teenagers featured had social workers, support workers, worried parents and teachers all involved in helping them.  I wanted, no, needed a piece of that.  I was still invisible (Penny 1 was anyway).  Penny 3 took the lead a lot of the time in those days.  During the programme they mentioned a statistic that if an average 15 year old drank a certain amount of cider for a short number of months they would be physically dependent on alcohol, and as I saw it, therefore going to get all that help and support.  Lucky for me before the end of the time it took to become an alcoholic two things happened.  One, I looked young for my age and had limited money so my source of cider ran out.  Two, I got involved with the Christian Union at School and became a believer and it seemed appropriate not to be an alcoholic after that.

My faith was, and still is helpful in keeping a check on the self-harm habit.  I’ve not managed to stop completely though.  What usually happens is I stop one thing and without thinking replace it with another detrimental behaviour.  Over the years the things I have done (and not all at once) includes; pulling out hair (head and eyes); cutting; hitting; burning; excessive use of laxatives; binge eating and comfort eating; peeling my fingertips; mini-over doses of prescribed drugs; infecting wounds on purpose.  You get the picture I’m sure.

I can’t communicate strongly enough how much I HATE this aspect of myself and how ashamed it makes me feel.  It has been my dark secret till recent years when I started to accept I can’t sort this out by myself.  I do hope you can read and not judge for this, “coming out” as a self-harmer is a risky business.  

It isn’t just me who struggles with this either.  Joe lives with me living with a self-harm habit.  Years ago, when I confessed what my injuries were after he hinted he knew it was very difficult.  My self-harm hurt him deeply, he did not understand nor could he get his head round it.  He had never known a “self-harmer” before and for a while it was a thorn in our marriage.  He doesn’t like it and never will (rightly so I think), but he is now able to react with compassion and support.  Being the partner of someone with BPD can be very demanding – and also amazingly good.  We are some of the most sensitive, empathic and compassionate people around when not in crisis.  If I steal a phrase from C.S.Lewis in a grief observed, “with great joy comes great pain.”