Assorted additional thoughts on Self-harm

More trigger warnings about self-injury, depression, anxiety and hope. Eventually my blog will be light and fluffy again.

Some other assorted thoughts on the whole self-harm thing I was talking about yesterday, because there are a handful of other things I feel I should/want to mention, that I couldn't quite fit into a cohesive narrative. Not that I ever exactly write cohesive narratives so much as "meandery as fuck blogish things", but I can pretend.

• Somewhere in the last [time], I wound up getting the negative brain stuff really bad. I was freaking out like hell, and desperate, and didn't know what to say or where to turn. The usual mechanisms weren't working, or the words wouldn't come (which is a damnable situation for me) or something --I don't remember the exact details.
  
  Anyway, frantic for anything that I could possibly grab onto before I slipped for good, I grabbed Ria, because of everyone I know in the world, she fit most cleanly in the center of the three circles "people I know with a history of self-harm", "people I trust to take care of me" and "people who are online at this hour". And so I asked her what kept her from doing it, when things got bad.
  
  the general phrasing in my head is "Do you really want to undo the last three years?"
  
  And it helped. It didn't make me magically happy again, but it was that handhold I needed, something to cling to while I pulled myself out of the pit. I wasn't going to cut myself tonight, because dammit, I hadn't yet, and I wasn't fucking up that kind of streak.¹



• Nowadays, the first thing that comes to mind to label all of that inhibiting negative emotions is "negvox", which is a term stolen from Harena². But back in high school, and early college, I determined that all my insecurities and fears and want to hurt myself were wrapped up in an internal beast called Her -always capitalized, mind. She lives in my head, inside a big ol' pit. Sometimes, when I'm not careful, I fall into the pit, and that's when things get distressing.
  
  I used to describe my relationship with my two chief denizens based on what they did with that pit. See, it was Alis's job, once I was down there, to keep me from falling any farther. And it was Gabriel's job (my guardian pseudoangel) to pull me back up. (Hyde, my guardian sociopath, had the job of watching, entranced, and scrawling notes of what She said for later use. He is nowhere near as insidious as She is though, and things that sound powerful in Her voice often sound pathetic in His. Hyde's mostly stopped that sort of powerplay.)



• On the plus side, personifying my insecurities gave me something to argue against, and fight against, and for some reason made it much more likely that She would say something unbearably stupid, and I would pretty much immediately snap back to...well, not better, but stable.
  
  Stable has always been a precious word to me --I know, damn well, that I am a fucked up little beast, internally. But I do everything possible to be the most stable insane person you'll ever meet. The advantage of twenty-two years of constant introspection is that I can solve damn near every problem my mind ever hands me on my own, all I need is enough time and a chance to write. I will find stability, every time, and from stability, I can work on hitting the positive emotions again.


( The next point gets dark, so behind a cut, also TW: rape )



• There is one other thing that I do to damage myself, that I didn't mention yesterday. It's really weird, and really powerful, and I think I've only done it about twice ever.
  
  When it all gets too much to bear, I get out a knife, or some scissors. And I cut my hair.
  
  Not significantly, of course, although man is the temptation there. Just...a chunk, from the back where it won't be noticed. The most recent occurrence was last April, when I very nearly lost the confidence that I would ever become a teacher³. I posted a photo to Flickr, quietly a few days or weeks later. You can still see the aftereffects, if you look closely at my hairline the second or third day of a braid. It is growing back. but still short enough that it falls out of the bindings I put it into.
  
  It's actually become one of my favourite things about my appearance at the moment, that one lock of hair curling gently against my neck. I think it's the actual aesthetic --this is apparently why people style their hair-- but there is also something nice about watching the scar of one of my darkest moments grow out and fade.
  
  The only other time would've been in high school at some point. I don't remember details.


( And two points to do with sex, which might not be your cup of tea )



• Finally, this has nothing to do with Self-Injury, and everything to do with me being an egotistical asshole who's too vain to focus on anything but herself, but holy shit the Bloggess wrote a follow-up in which she linked to my picture. Like, as in, the picture I took yesterday, just screwing around trying to show support for all the people in all the world, just trying to share the strength I have because I know so many people have it worse...
  
  ...is now in The Bloggess's blog. AHHHHHH*FLAILFLAILFLAILFLAILWHATDOIDO?!* Okay. That's enough of that. But seriously and holyshit, The Bloggess is one of the funniest and most talented writers out there right now (If you need more reason to follow her, she hosts random twitter parties with Wil Wheton and is the originator of the line "this chicken will cut you" which I think is seriously the funniest thing every written, and owns a giant taxidermied boar's head named James Garfield who is basically a saint) and seriously, everything she does is amazing.
  
  And she linked to my photo ohmy_god_ you guys. According to Flickr, views on January 2nd: 44. Views on January 3rd: 3777. What the fuck, that is _two fucking orders of magnitude higher_, ohmygod. At any rate, I am apparently now internet-famous, and going to become a diva and wear feather boas all the time.


Considering that this entry about self-injury just got dangerously irreverent (and that I really want to draw a picture of myself in my Diva-boa), I think I'll wrap this up. So:

Tl;Dr: Self-harm is bad. Coping mechanisms are good. My friends are awesome, and I will do anything I can to keep them happy. Having an internet celebrity link to your stuff is intoxicating. I am badly damaged but I'm very healthy about it. And Beyoncé the Chicken has a posse and oh god, you have no idea how badly I need someone who does graphic design to make that now

~Sor
MOOP!

1: And it's worth noting that fucking up isn't the end of the world. It's a thing that happens sometimes, to everyone, and it should not be treated like the world has ended. When you break a streak, be it positive or lack of negative, what you do is pick yourself back up and try again. (See also, 750words.)

2: I try to make a point of telling her that her negvox are WRONG and BAD and should be covered in silly string and potatoes (because it's impossible to be taken seriously when you're covered in silly string and potatoes) rather frequently, and you all should do this as well. Mostly because Harena is awesome and bubbly and enthusiastic and loving and has the loudest damn negvox of anyone I know.

3: I have never been so severely self-doubting of my abilities. It takes a lot to get me to hate, it takes more to make me hold grudges. I hate the man who did that to me, and just as strongly as I did eight months ago.

4: Well, assuming one is doing it safely, and I am. I don't engage in activities that are dangerous alone, and I follow the same protocols I follow when doing anything else kinky. And I _always_ make sure to sit myself down afterwards and have some chocolate and water and warm-floaty thoughts until I have satisfied my personal requirement for aftercare.

Trigger Warnings go both ways: Self-injury, depression, anxiety (and a little bit of sex and rape).