Secrets - Fo' Serious, Yo!

I went to IKEA last week.  I love IKEA...like, an unhealthy amount.  I'd have a love affair with IKEA if I could, but that's probably another blog post entirely.  Every time I go to IKEA, I drool over all of the fabulous gadgets and knick-knacks they have for organization.  Well, I drool over the thought of them - I don't actually physically drool on them.  Apparently they frown on that there.  Those of you who know me well are probably already laughing at my love of organizational things.  For those of you who don't know me, I'm petty much the most unorganized person on the planet.  My house looks like a giant monster came in, ate everything in sight and then just vomited it all over the place.  Yes, my house looks like monster vomit.  And monster vomit is in no way organized - and it's actually kind of gross.  I've never quite been able to understand why I have such a fascination with organization doohickeys.  Perhaps it's just my natural inclination to want what I know I'll never have.  I'm never going to be an organized person.  I've accepted that as one of many truths in my life.  Organization = not gonna happen.

So, you're probably wondering why this post is titled "Secrets."  Certainly my love for IKEA is no secret, nor is my complete lack of organization.  So let's start at the beginning.  It was a cold November day in Somewhere, Indiana when I made my entrance into this world in spectacular fashion.  Okay, that's probably too far back.  But this picture below - this is why IKEA was Hell, if only for a brief time.

What's so horrific about a giant pile of scissors?  Well, that's a freaking long story, and it's one that I'm sure will leave a fair number of you either judging the hell out of me or convinced I'm psychotic - or perhaps both. So I'll start with this - I'm NOT psychotic. Not even a little - my psychiatrist told me so... Now that I've got that out of the way, the reason that a huge pile of scissors makes me so damn uncomfortable is because I struggle with self-harm and have for a very, very long time.  I cut and scissors are typically my "weapon" of choice. It's something I've never been open about because of the fear of judgment, the fear of people thinking I'm a freak. And I'm sure I'll get a fair amount of both, and that's okay. Well, actually that really sucks, but I understand and expect it anyway.

I suppose I'm at a point in my life where I feel like people who can't see past it and realize I'm the same person I've always been aren't worth worrying about. The truth is that it's a hard struggle and I need all the support I can get. At some point I just need to have some faith that people don't suck and aren't just going to run screaming the other way because they don't understand. If you don't understand, you're in great company. I'd imagine most people who've never struggled with it really don't understand - it seems really counter-intuitive and fucked up. My hope is that people will educate themselves and try to understand instead of jumping straight to judgment. And if you don't understand and you have questions, please ask me. I'd rather answer awkward and uncomfortable questions than be silently judged. I don't want people to think I'm some kind of crazy lunatic...any more than they already do. 

I'm sure it's strange - maybe even scary - to think about someone intentionally hurting themselves. Trust me, it's not exactly a walk in the park for me either - I didn't ask to be this way and certainly wouldn't have chosen it for myself. But the nuts and bolts of it is that it's nothing more than a coping mechanism. A maladaptive one, certainly, but really the drive isn't so different from the what compels some people to drink or indulge in retail therapy when they're stressed. It's hard to explain why cutting helps, but it ironically does take the sting out of some very difficult emotions. That's the thing - it's be much easier to beat if it didn't actually work, but it does and that's just unfortunate.  As anyone who's read this blog knows, it's been a hell of a year for me and that's certainly just added fuel to the fire.

To be clear, self-harm is NOT a suicide attempt, though I can understand how it might sometimes seem like it is.  It's often just the opposite - a way to try to take the edge off of some very horrifyingly strong emotions so that suicide doesn't start seeming like a viable option.  It is also not a cry for attention.  Most people who self-harm are very careful to hide it, harming in areas that are easily hidden or in ways that can be easily explained.  Most people who self-harm are too afraid of judgment to do it for attention.  I promise you, it's not for attention.  It's also not about enjoying pain.  No, just...no.

I remember talking with my therapist during one session about some of these struggles and issues.  She was trying to understand where some of my struggles originated and why I turned to this kind of crappy and self-destructive coping mechanism.  So she asked me about my earliest childhood memory.  I thought about it for a moment and then busted out laughing.  Like crazy, ridiculous laughter. I think my therapist thought I had officially lost my mind.  She was probably right, but that's not why I was laughing.  I was laughing because my earliest childhood memory was just so ridiculous in light of my issues with cutting.  You see, the earliest memory I have that's vivid enough for me to really remember is from kindergarten (which is apparently really late for a first memory).  I sat next to a boy called "Johnny O" who was a little...I don't know, unhinged is maybe a good word.  I remember him taking out his pair of safety scissors and cutting the crap out of my hand.  I had a hard time even telling the story through the laughter because the irony was just absurd.  Talk about some deep seated issues - I blame him for all of these problems!  I'm thankful to have a therapist that could appreciate the humor in the story despite the issues themselves not being at all humorous.  Sometimes it's nice just to break the tension and be able to find humor in things that aren't really traditionally humorous.  

I'm sure at some point I'll end up kicking myself for being open about this.  Probably really soon after I put it out there. But the truth is that I don't care anymore. I'm tired of pretending to be someone I'm not. I'm tired of hiding parts of myself because they're hard to swallow. People who don't support me in my worst of times don't deserve me in my best of times. And it's honestly a hard thing to fight alone, but it's even harder when I'm too busy being ashamed of it to actually try to deal with it.  As counter-intuitive as it may seem, self-harm is what's helped me survive through all of the times I wanted to give up, and there's absolutely no shame in surviving. With any luck, I'll pick up a supportive person or two along the way who will be willing to be there for me when I'm struggling, without judgment, without conditions because heaven knows that's what I need more than anything right now. I've made a lot of strides in dealing with this whole mess this year, especially considering the year I've had, but there are days it's definitely still a struggle...sometimes more than I care to admit.  There are a few people - and they know who they are - who have been such a tremendous support for me over the last several months (and kind of long suffering for having to deal with me - sorry about that).  I love and appreciate you more than you know.  Thank you for being awesome and patient and not giving up on me.

Here's hoping people surprise me with love and support instead of fear and judgment.  I guess we shall see...but I'm going to duck and cover, just in case.