A simple heart inscribed in midnight black ink on a lover’s skin. An innocuous question heralding a world-shattering answer…

Content warning: self harm

This piece has been written for a long time. And it has sat, like a lead weight, in my drafts for what feels like an age. I hope publishing this brings the release it has been promising, whisperlike.

But this (for a few minutes longer) is a symbolic day. Today is Self-Injury Awareness Day. It is also the anniversary of my first learning about self-harm. That day, I unwittingly grew a little more aware of the darkness that eats at the world. Until then, I never knew people could find the self loathing to harm themselves.

A simple heart inscribed in midnight black ink on a lover’s skin. An innocuous question heralding a world-shattering answer. Eyes forever opened to self-inflicted pain.

This is something I never thought I’d be able to talk about publicly — the people that already know can be counted on one hand.

I never thought I could look my father, my best friend, my sister or anyone close to me in the eye and tell them this. For fear of what they might think. How they might react.

Note: if you are close to me, please do not be surprised if I don’t want to talk

Indeed, I still can’t. So I’m sharing this with them, and the world, the only way I really know how. The written word.

Regardless, this is something I have to tell — consequences be damned. I push my fears aside at last in the hope this might help someone, anyone. That’s all I can hope for.

Second warning — next part is graphic

I somehow never cut deep enough to leave physical scars.

But I’ll still carry the echoes with me for the rest of my life.

I understand.

I understand the all consuming self loathing.

I understand the momentary relief.

I understand the shame, the fear.

I understand and I hope you never truly do.

My daemons did not feel evil. They felt…not like friends exactly…but familiar.

That was enough for me to give in.

In case that wasn’t clear — I self harmed. I took a blade and slashed at my own skin. Took twisted joy in making myself bleed.

Harmed. Past tense. I’ve escaped the darkness now. Silenced my daemons.

But there will always be that occasional whisper. Past, but never forgotten. Impossible to forget.

Self harm is far more common than many people realise. Many people do not know of it at all.

This has to change. People must know.

Knowing that it happens isn’t enough. Based off my own experience, here’s a little bit about why…

Self-harm is a coping method for other problems. An utterly self destructive one but also strangely addictive. For myself the root cause was a penetrating feeling of failure caused by consistently being unable to prevent others harming. I can now see that there was nothing I could have done. I had no hope of seeing that at the time.

Worse, it is often a feedback loop. For myself — as twisted as this is — I never felt I was doing it ‘properly’. Whatever properly is. That fueled the gleeful roaring flame of loathing.

Hopefully, now you understand a little more. Hopefully, now — you share my desire to help. But I don’t know how to help, not really. Because there is no magic bullet. There sure as hell wasn’t for me — I just sort of…stopped, one day.

All I can say is this…

Be kind. Be compassionate. Heal, do not hurt.

Easier said than done, I know. Certainly something I am still very much working on myself. But here’s one step everyone should take:

Do not, do not ever, romanticise or trivialise suicide, self harm, or mental issues as a whole. It’s a deeply toxic behaviour that I find wholly inexcusable.

General attitude towards mental health has to change. Period.

I’m sharing my story in the hope it will contribute to that. To the recognition of mental disorder being just as serious as the physical.

I don’t want to live in a world where people hate themselves. Do you?