PART I — Self-Harm

PART I — Self-Harm

I used to think self-harm had a very specific look.

Razor blades. Blood. A dramatic breaking point.

But most of the time, it’s quieter than that.

Sometimes it’s a tattoo appointment booked on impulse.

A new piercing. A bigger gauge.

A scab I keep picking even though I tell myself I’ll stop.

A workout I push through long after my body has asked me to quit.

Sometimes it’s choosing pain because the rest of life won’t stop handing it to me anyway.

Self-harm doesn’t always look dangerous.

Sometimes it looks socially acceptable.

Sometimes it even gets compliments.

No one really talks about that part.

Why I Do It

People love to ask why, like the answer should be simple.

Like there’s only one reason.

Like it’s always about wanting to die.

It isn’t.

I don’t hurt myself because I want to disappear.

I hurt myself because I’m trying to stay here.

Because I need the noise in my head to shut up for just a moment.

Because emotional pain doesn’t come with edges, or timelines, or warning signs.

Because pain I choose feels safer than pain that ambushes me.

Somewhere along the way, my brain learned that pain works.

It resets me when my thoughts spiral.

It pulls me back when I’m dissociating.

It distracts me when emotions get too heavy to hold.

It punishes me when guilt & shame take over.

It makes me feel real when numbness swallows everything else.

It’s not logical.

It’s not healthy.

But it is real.

& it’s mine.

The Versions No One Warns You About

Self-harm has a very narrow reputation.

But it shows up wearing a lot of disguises.

There are the obvious ones.

The ones people recognize immediately.

Cutting. Burning. Scratching. Picking. Bruising yourself on purpose while pretending it was an accident.

Those are the ones people whisper about.

Then there are the pretty ones.

Tattoos. Piercings. Body mods done again & again.

Pain wrapped in aesthetics.

Pain that gets praised instead of questioned.

Sometimes that tattoo wasn’t just art.

Sometimes it was relief.

There are also the ones everyone calls healthy.

Over-exercising.

Starving.

Overworking until you collapse.

Sleeping too much or not at all.

Staying busy so you don’t have to feel.

Staying with people who hurt you because it feels familiar.

Blowing up your own life just to feel something.

If the goal is to punish, numb, escape, or control, it still counts.

Then there are the silent ones.

Ignoring your needs.

Withholding rest.

Letting your mental health rot quietly.

Pushing people away before they can leave.

Letting your inner voice tear you apart every day.

Not all wounds bleed.

Some just ache constantly.

The Part That Confuses People

Self-harm doesn’t always make things worse in the moment.

Sometimes it makes them quieter.

Pain is predictable.

It starts. It peaks. It ends.

Life doesn’t.

Pain grounds me when I’m floating away.

It cuts through the fog.

It gives me a sense of control when I feel like a passenger in my own head.

I don’t do this because I love pain.

I do it because pain makes sense when nothing else does.

That doesn’t make it right.

It just makes it true.

Holding Both Truths

This is the hardest part to admit.

Self-harm helps.

& it hurts.

It soothes.

& it scars.

It keeps you alive.

& it leaves damage behind.

Healing isn’t pretending you never needed it.

Healing is understanding why you did.

It’s learning the language your pain speaks.

& slowly, gently, teaching your brain another way.

If This Is You Too

You’re not broken.

You’re not dramatic.

You’re not doing this for attention.

You were surviving with the tools you had.

There are safer tools.

Better ones.

Ones that don’t leave scars.

But you’re not weak for using what worked at the time.

You deserve gentleness.

You deserve softness.

You deserve to stay.

Hope doesn’t die last because life is kind.

It dies last because we keep choosing to survive, even when it’s messy.

You’re still here.

That matters.

with scars, shadows & unkillable hope.

hopedieslast

— a

#mentalhealthblog #personalblog #mentalhealth #bpd #cptsd #ptsd #adhd #gad #depression #insomnia #anorexia

PART I — Self-Harm

I used to think self-harm had a very specific look.

Razor blades. Blood. A dramatic breaking point.

But most of the time, it’s quieter than that.

Sometimes it’s a tattoo appointment booked on impulse.

A new piercing. A bigger gauge.

A scab I keep picking even though I tell myself I’ll stop.

A workout I push through long after my body has asked me to quit.

Sometimes it’s choosing pain because the rest of life won’t stop handing it to me anyway.

Self-harm doesn’t always look dangerous.

Sometimes it looks socially acceptable.

Sometimes it even gets compliments.

No one really talks about that part.

Why I Do It

People love to ask why, like the answer should be simple.

Like there’s only one reason.

Like it’s always about wanting to die.

It isn’t.

I don’t hurt myself because I want to disappear.

I hurt myself because I’m trying to stay here.

Because I need the noise in my head to shut up for just a moment.

Because emotional pain doesn’t come with edges, or timelines, or warning signs.

Because pain I choose feels safer than pain that ambushes me.

Somewhere along the way, my brain learned that pain works.

It resets me when my thoughts spiral.

It pulls me back when I’m dissociating.

It distracts me when emotions get too heavy to hold.

It punishes me when guilt & shame take over.

It makes me feel real when numbness swallows everything else.

It’s not logical.

It’s not healthy.

But it is real.

& it’s mine.

The Versions No One Warns You About

Self-harm has a very narrow reputation.

But it shows up wearing a lot of disguises.

There are the obvious ones.

The ones people recognize immediately.

Cutting. Burning. Scratching. Picking. Bruising yourself on purpose while pretending it was an accident.

Those are the ones people whisper about.

Then there are the pretty ones.

Tattoos. Piercings. Body mods done again & again.

Pain wrapped in aesthetics.

Pain that gets praised instead of questioned.

Sometimes that tattoo wasn’t just art.

Sometimes it was relief.

There are also the ones everyone calls healthy.

Over-exercising.

Starving.

Overworking until you collapse.

Sleeping too much or not at all.

Staying busy so you don’t have to feel.

Staying with people who hurt you because it feels familiar.

Blowing up your own life just to feel something.

If the goal is to punish, numb, escape, or control, it still counts.

Then there are the silent ones.

Ignoring your needs.

Withholding rest.

Letting your mental health rot quietly.

Pushing people away before they can leave.

Letting your inner voice tear you apart every day.

Not all wounds bleed.

Some just ache constantly.

The Part That Confuses People

Self-harm doesn’t always make things worse in the moment.

Sometimes it makes them quieter.

Pain is predictable.

It starts. It peaks. It ends.

Life doesn’t.

Pain grounds me when I’m floating away.

It cuts through the fog.

It gives me a sense of control when I feel like a passenger in my own head.

I don’t do this because I love pain.

I do it because pain makes sense when nothing else does.

That doesn’t make it right.

It just makes it true.

Holding Both Truths

This is the hardest part to admit.

Self-harm helps.

& it hurts.

It soothes.

& it scars.

It keeps you alive.

& it leaves damage behind.

Healing isn’t pretending you never needed it.

Healing is understanding why you did.

It’s learning the language your pain speaks.

& slowly, gently, teaching your brain another way.

If This Is You Too

You’re not broken.

You’re not dramatic.

You’re not doing this for attention.

You were surviving with the tools you had.

There are safer tools.

Better ones.

Ones that don’t leave scars.

But you’re not weak for using what worked at the time.

You deserve gentleness.

You deserve softness.

You deserve to stay.

Hope doesn’t die last because life is kind.

It dies last because we keep choosing to survive, even when it’s messy.

You’re still here.

That matters.

with scars, shadows & unkillable hope.

hopedieslast

— a

#mentalhealthblog #personalblog #mentalhealth #bpd #cptsd #ptsd #adhd #gad #depression #insomnia #anorexia

I used to think self-harm had a very specific look.

Razor blades. Blood. A dramatic breaking point.

But most of the time, it’s quieter than that.

Sometimes it’s a tattoo appointment booked on impulse.

A new piercing. A bigger gauge.

A scab I keep picking even though I tell myself I’ll stop.

A workout I push through long after my body has asked me to quit.

Sometimes it’s choosing pain because the rest of life won’t stop handing it to me anyway.

Self-harm doesn’t always look dangerous.

Sometimes it looks socially acceptable.

Sometimes it even gets compliments.

No one really talks about that part.

Why I Do It

People love to ask why, like the answer should be simple.

Like there’s only one reason.

Like it’s always about wanting to die.

It isn’t.

I don’t hurt myself because I want to disappear.

I hurt myself because I’m trying to stay here.

Because I need the noise in my head to shut up for just a moment.

Because emotional pain doesn’t come with edges, or timelines, or warning signs.

Because pain I choose feels safer than pain that ambushes me.

Somewhere along the way, my brain learned that pain works.

It resets me when my thoughts spiral.

It pulls me back when I’m dissociating.

It distracts me when emotions get too heavy to hold.

It punishes me when guilt & shame take over.

It makes me feel real when numbness swallows everything else.

It’s not logical.

It’s not healthy.

But it is real.

& it’s mine.

The Versions No One Warns You About

Self-harm has a very narrow reputation.

But it shows up wearing a lot of disguises.

There are the obvious ones.

The ones people recognize immediately.

Cutting. Burning. Scratching. Picking. Bruising yourself on purpose while pretending it was an accident.

Those are the ones people whisper about.

Then there are the pretty ones.

Tattoos. Piercings. Body mods done again & again.

Pain wrapped in aesthetics.

Pain that gets praised instead of questioned.

Sometimes that tattoo wasn’t just art.

Sometimes it was relief.

There are also the ones everyone calls healthy.

Over-exercising.

Starving.

Overworking until you collapse.

Sleeping too much or not at all.

Staying busy so you don’t have to feel.

Staying with people who hurt you because it feels familiar.

Blowing up your own life just to feel something.

If the goal is to punish, numb, escape, or control, it still counts.

Then there are the silent ones.

Ignoring your needs.

Withholding rest.

Letting your mental health rot quietly.

Pushing people away before they can leave.

Letting your inner voice tear you apart every day.

Not all wounds bleed.

Some just ache constantly.

The Part That Confuses People

Self-harm doesn’t always make things worse in the moment.

Sometimes it makes them quieter.

Pain is predictable.

It starts. It peaks. It ends.

Life doesn’t.

Pain grounds me when I’m floating away.

It cuts through the fog.

It gives me a sense of control when I feel like a passenger in my own head.

I don’t do this because I love pain.

I do it because pain makes sense when nothing else does.

That doesn’t make it right.

It just makes it true.

Holding Both Truths

This is the hardest part to admit.

Self-harm helps.

& it hurts.

It soothes.

& it scars.

It keeps you alive.

& it leaves damage behind.

Healing isn’t pretending you never needed it.

Healing is understanding why you did.

It’s learning the language your pain speaks.

& slowly, gently, teaching your brain another way.

If This Is You Too

You’re not broken.

You’re not dramatic.

You’re not doing this for attention.

You were surviving with the tools you had.

There are safer tools.

Better ones.

Ones that don’t leave scars.

But you’re not weak for using what worked at the time.

You deserve gentleness.

You deserve softness.

You deserve to stay.

Hope doesn’t die last because life is kind.

It dies last because we keep choosing to survive, even when it’s messy.

You’re still here.

That matters.

with scars, shadows & unkillable hope.

hopedieslast

— a

#mentalhealthblog #personalblog #mentalhealth #bpd #cptsd #ptsd #adhd #gad #depression #insomnia #anorexia