Reasons For Why You Shouldn't Rape

STRONG TRIGGER WARNING AHEAD.

How do I start this?

How do I even begin to convey in words what I have recently been made to feel again, two weeks ago? I have found myself sitting here on occasion, these last couple of weeks, staring at this empty document. And today, I have found myself sitting here for hours now. I need to write this down. I don't really know how to begin. I'm just typing. Look, there we go, I have words now. Words are a start. This is a kind of in-the-moment, unplanned thing. I'm just typing. I guess that will suffice as a beginning.

Two weeks ago, my rapist sent me an email.

...

Where.. do I even begin? Truly? 

My rapist sent me an email.

My rapist.

The same rapist who raped me.

I was raped by a rapist and this was that rapist and he emailed me.

You know…? The same rapist who held me down while I cried that he was hurting me but he raped me anyway? That rapist. The rapist who raped me. Raped by a rapist. Violation. Rape. Betrayal. Rape. Abuse. Rape. Force. Rape. Trauma. Rape. Blood. Rape. Terror. Rape. Rape. Rape Rape Rape Rape Rape.

THAT rapist. The same one. That same rapist.

And he emailed me.

Can you just… take a second, and try to grasp what that.. is? What that means? To be raped? By a rapist?

The rapist who raped me. Held me down. Pulled down my pants. Raped me. I said it hurt. He kept on raping me anyway. And after I scrubbed myself so hard in the bathtub to get him off of me that I scraped the skin off and bled and the water turned pinkish but I still felt so dirty and then I dropped out of high school and tried to kill myself and became psychotically depressed with terror and wound up in a psychiatric ward and I bled and bled and bled and screamed and screamed and screamed daily. 

Yes. That rapist. The rapist who did that to me. 

The rapist who raped me.

Emailed me.

Can you just… imagine? Imagine what that would be like?

Can you imagine what he may say? My rapist? To his rape victim?

Take a moment. Take a brief moment.

What… would a rapist say, to his rape victim?

Three years after her rape? The rape that he committed?

Do you imagine that maybe

He would apologise? Maybe?

Maybe express regret?

Perhaps he was so guilty and tortured that he was trying to make amends before he did something awesome like end his pitiful and despicable fucking life or turn himself in? Maybe? God you would hope so, wouldn't you? I would certainly hope so.

Or maybe

He would say something along the lines of,

Hey (ex girlfriend that I abused and raped for three-four years)!,
Hey (ex girlfriend from a relationship that ended in incredible violence, that ended in the tragic death of inner-child)!,

How are you doing!? How has life been treating you these last few years?!

I've been good, myself. I've been doing pretty well in school and blahblahblah! I've actually been volunteering blahblah and working blahblah and I'm even on the student council at my college blahblahblahblah so I've been pretty busy. Still pretty quiet and shy though so it's hard to connect with people still lol (don't you remember? so funny). Anyway Tori (remember the cat we picked out together? Tori? Remember Tori? You remember Tori? Tori? The cat we picked out together? As a couple? Tori? We named her Tori.) is all grown up now and getting quite fat. She's definitely become a member of the family (remember my family? remember? when we were a couple? you came over all the time?).
Anyway I don't know if you will reply or not (because I raped you, remember? lol. Remember when I raped you? Ahh, the good old days, right? When I raped you? lol good times) but it would be great to hear from you again to see what you're up to! I'd love to catch up some time.
Anyway have a good one! (even though you won't now because I raped you and won't allow your terror to go away)

From,

Your Rapist.

..

No, never that.

You can't just…

lol you can't just

EMAIL the girl you raped after three years and go, HEY HOWS IT GOING REMEMBER OUR LIFE TOGETHER AND LOOK HOW WELL I'M DOING

he would never

he's not that INHUMAN right?

I mean sure he RAPED and that's just

an INHUMAN ACT to begin with but he just wouldn't

like

RUB IT IN like that, right?

Or forget it all happened or something?

Or just like,

Not… care?

Right?

Right?

So much normalcy...

I just…

For the last three years… I have been living in this delusional world where… He felt bad. That he had human in him. That the boy I dated for four years wasn't fully animal for our entire relationship. That I wasn't so naive. That I couldn't have known. That he had a moment of being inhuman but reverted back to being human and reflected on what he had done and what I had accused him of and was DESTROYED by what he had done to me, in destroying me. Wouldn't that be fair? He played so many mind tricks on me in our four year relationship that he had me protecting him to the very end, didn't he? I protected the shit out of that boy, when he raped me. I simply disappeared off the face of his world. I didn't go to the police. I didn't have him arrested. I didn't press charges. I didn't ruin his chances of getting into the university that I knew he worked so hard to get into. So it would only be fair that he took it upon himself, to punish himself, right? So tortured by what he had done that he would drop out of school, or fail, and need to quit his job, and perhaps get himself some help, because he realised that he has a monster in him that he needs to get under some fucking control.

Normalcy. So much normalcy. Like nothing happened. Like I didn't accuse him of rape.

I have been hoping for the last three years that he has been living in anguish over what he did to me. Because even though he was in denial at the time I accused, after reflecting back on it and wondering what had happened, what had gone WRONG?

ANYONE HUMAN COULD HAVE SEEN WHAT HE HAD DONE. I didn't press charges, but I had hoped that my accusation/declaration would have crushed him in the realisation of what he had done.

I have been living in this fantasy for the last three years that he was suffering.

And now reality has hit. No. He never emerged from the denial.

My rapist, the rapist who raped me, he's doing well. My rapist is doing better than I am.

I protected him to give him that.

I had hoped that I hadn't have been successful in giving that to him.

But I was successful..

I snapped. I fell so hard. I had never in my life of mental illness broken that fast and that completely in such a short amount of time. I went from smiling to confusion to screaming. So quickly. My post-traumatic stress disorder overcame me, overwhelmed me, crushed me before I even knew what had really hit me. (Please can't you see that this destroyed me. Someone?)

And so I re-lived, again, my rape through post-traumatic stress disorder flashbacks. I was raped again that night, in my mind, by him, so real. He pulled down my pants and held me down and I cried and he raped me again that night. I have fought so hard for so long to break free from his power over me and in ONE message all of that was reversed and I fell victim once again.

Fucking… hell and I was so powerless.

I didn't even stop to think I just deleted the email and messaged him without thinking that I should probably keep it as evidence god damn it and that I should have fought BACK. Because here is my CHANCE! To fight him back! Like I wasn't able to do physically, three years ago. All of those years with him.

But it didn't work out like that, did it.

God fucking damn it this post is full of melodramatic bullshit but fucking hell I want everyone to SEE WHAT HE DID. I feel increasing anxiety that I'm not conveying my emotions well enough. They are so intense that it's hard for that to come across in words but I WANT it to. I want someone to picture me legitimately laying on the floor screaming and crying with blood on my arms and be moved to tears and anger and a need to reach out to me through that image. I want someone to know, through my words, without experiencing the trauma themselves but KNOWING enough through my words, what I went through.

I just want someone to understand that I was RAPED.

Do you understand what rape IS!?

I want someone to look at me, 5'2", 115 lbs, talented, quick to smile, intelligent

And I want them to imagine my heart-shaped face being pressed into a pillow while my blue eyes cried as he forced 'himself' into me. INSIDE of me. INSIDE of ME. Of ME. ME, something that /I/ should have complete and utter control of. MYSELF. MY possession. MY body. And he forced something INSIDE of it over and OVER again against my will. It wasn't SEX, it had nothing to do with SEX, it was about taking away my CONTROL so that he could be POWERFUL. It was RAPE. I was RAPED.
And,
How does that make you feel!?
Can you imagine!?

How INVASIVE that was. How much of an understatement the word INVASIVE IS. The VIOLATION. The TRAUMA. The NiGHTMARES. How BETRAYED I was. I trusted him to NOT rape me. But he RAPED me.

And I do not want someone to go, "aww, I'm so sorry.."
I do not want someone to be silent,

but to be fucking MAD

Like, really fucking ANGRY on my behalf

Because this fucker RAPED me and had the GALL to fucking MESSAGE ME with his NORMALCY BULLSHIT LIKE NOTHING EVER FUCKING HAPPENED LIKE HE DIDN'T FUCK ME UP.

Because he did fuck me up.

So badly.

I just can't wrap my mind around how FUCKED UP he made me feel, how fucked up the situation is, how fucked up my life is, how raping me set me YEARS behind everyone else. It's on a COLOSSAL scale, how fucked up I have been, and how my life has been. ENORMOUS. Unmeasurable. So. much. destruction and chaos.

How have I been? HOW AM I?

I'll tell you how fucking well I have been since you RAPED me, RAPIST.

First of all I went from being a straight A student to a fucking high school DROP OUT who couldn't even leave her fucking house and flipped her shit over the locks on the doors because you tried to break in that one time after you raped me.

So thank you for making me the DISAPPOINTMENT of my family.

Yeah, there's the second thing.

Thanks for destroying MY FAMILY TOO.

Thanks for fracturing the tentative relationship with my mother, thanks for destroying my relationship with my sister, for OBLITERATING my relationship with my father. Severing me from my father's side of the family. The weddings and births I have missed because I am too GODDAMN AFRAID TO REACH OUT.

Thanks for the POST TRAUMATIC STRESS DISORDER and the SLEW OF OTHER MENTAL DISORDERS that I now have to fucking deal with. Thanks for triggering a PSYCHOTIC BREAKDOWN. How have I BEEN? Well, let's see, I've only tried and almost succeeded in killing myself a few times, that's all! I only succeeded in getting myself locked away against my will in a psychiatric ward, no big FUCKING DEAL OR ANYTHING.

How. Have. I. Been.

Well my skin is no longer beautiful on my legs because I've slashed my thighs open to bleed out the pain that you put me through. I only have scar tissue upon scar tissue upon scar tissue, no biggie. I only cried until I literally choked and dreamed of dying and had nightmares of living. I was only kicked out and pretty much homeless for a little while there because no one understood what the fuck I was on about and I wasn't healing fast enough for them so hit the road, rape victim! Get out of here! You're crying too much.

I only lost EVERYTHING that I held dear to me, most of my closest friends, any potential friendships that could have bloomed. You were only the cause of the disorders that were the reason for why I was threatened, and successfully threatened, into a surgery that I did not WANT.

Forced to get a job and move out on my own before I was ready for it. While I was still dealing with the trauma. Over 40 hours a week, minimum wage, while I cried most nights for being raped in my dreams over and over again.

I only look over my shoulder EVERY GOD DAMN TIME I AM OUTSIDE because I am TERRIFIED of seeing you. TERRIFIED of being chained to this area that I know is nearby YOU. I know you frequent HERE and I know that you know that I am HERE and so I am TERRIFIED of leaving my own god damn home. Not that my home would stop you, nothing could stop you, as is evident by you RAPING ME.

How have I been…?

Sad… and so very angry. And depressed and misunderstood and so very alone and disconnected and detached and feeling way too much.

I learned to mistrust and I learned suspicion and silence and literal insanity.

I learned to distance myself from everyone around me.

I learned to channel my sobs into convulsions so that my father wouldn't hear me in the other room. I would just convulse instead of scream.

I learned how to get bloodstains out of bedsheets and how to properly tend to wounds.

Once you have been raped it... changes you. You become mistrustful in the worst way possible. People who are not victims, who do not know victims, they go about their lives giving away trust to others. They simply trust. They trust that they will not be raped.

But the moment you become a rape victim... that disappears. Your entire outlook completely changes.

Now, people have to EARN your trust in them that they will not rape you.

As a rape victim, you live your life in fear of other people, in fear of rape. Mistrusting other people and mistrusting their control over themselves.

You never completely trust again.

Every new partner falls under your suspicion and scrutiny.

Are they displaying the signs?

How do I trust this person?

Do they have the potential to rape me?

So I have learned to mistrust people.

I have been taught, in such a brutal way, through such a brutal lesson, to not assume the trust.

To withhold it from others until they can PROVE to you that they will not hurt you in that way.

You have to EARN my trust to not rape me. Isn't that bizarre? Can you imagine that?

I wouldn't have been able to conceive of something like that, a mindset like this, pre-rape....

All on my own, through my own strength of will, I have climbed from the depths that you threw me down to. I earned my high school diploma two years after I dropped out. I  applied for and was accepted into college. I just received my grades and I achieved a 4.0 GPA in college. I've held my job for two years. I was promoted to supervisor a year ago. I started building up relationships again. Reaching out a little bit more. Almost enjoying myself. That was what /I/ did. That's MY strength. It took me THREE YEARS to even climb to the STARTING point of where you merrily are, rapist.

And then you just

thought you could just

message me.

And you destroyed all that. You messaged me the night before my biggest exam.

I am a straight-A student and that day, when I went in and wrote that exam, I received 55%.

That's just fucking… HIGH SCHOOL all over again, what you did to me.

FUCKED me over so that I went from fucking AMAZING to fucking

destroyed.
How fucking...

DARE YOU!?
HOW FUCKING DARE YOU EVEN THINK TO ENTER MY LIFE AGAIN AND CAUSE THE SAME FUCKING BULLSHIT THAT I SO PAINSTAKINGLY FOUGHT AND RECOVERED FROM, ALL THESE YEARS? ALL THESE YEARS SINCE YOU RAPED ME?

RAPIST?

HOW DARE YOU.
I CAN'T EVEN BELIEVE YOU HAD
THE NERVE
to
message
me.

And no.

You didn't act the way I had been hoping, all of these years.

Tormented and anguished.

No. You didn't.

Because you're not a compassionate human being.

You're not a reasonable human being.

You don't care for me or for others.

I was merely a possession all along.

Something to control.

You objectified me. Stripped away my identity as a person.

I suppose doing that made it easier to rape me.

Because if I was a human being with thoughts and feelings it would be harder to rape me without feeling really bad about it, probably.

But I was just a woman. Your woman. A woman that you controlled. Right?

A possession.

Raping possessions isn't so bad, right?

It's like, it's not rape at all, and you can like, just… get on with your own life afterwards.

If I was just a possession and not a human being with thoughts and feelings.

Right?

I'm the one living in torment and in anguish.

That's just not fair.

It's just really not fair at all.

You should be the one living in torment and anguish.

But there you are.

With your normal life.

Your successful life.

Congratulations, rapist.

You represent rapists everywhere.

Silver Lines

WARNING: Mature, potentially triggering content. Reader discretion advised.

This friday, October 12, 2012, marks exactly three years since I was raped. October 5th has come and gone, but marks a full year since my surgery resulting in the loss of a small spark of life that I still grieve deeply for. With these two dates of such defining and traumatising significance to me so close together, it is perhaps understandable that I am prone to annual bouts of depressive episodes.

To debunk the common misconceptions of mental health in general is a feat that I will undertake another day. Instead, I'm honing in on one specific aspect that has never truly been respected for what it is and what it means. The majority of the people who have stood by me after what I have been through have enhanced their knowledge on mental health disorders and the stigmas surrounding them by leaps and bounds, but this particular subject stands out to me as something that is still misunderstood.

I am writing today to discuss self-harm/self-mutilation, and what it means to me.

Here we land on the taboo subject of self-injury/harm, in an attempt to debunk the common yet serious misconceptions about the motivations and state-of-mind of a self-harmer. This task may, in the end, be a futile one; to truly understand the motivations of a cutter, one must be a cutter. The majority, non-cutters, will likely always look upon the act of self-mutilation and harm with a sort of awful horror. It is a very personal thing that differs from person to person, with no two stories the same. However, this is a task that must be undertaken in order for the flow of this blog to continue. This is a really touchy subject for me, as a self-harmer, as I take the unpopular approach in defending a cutter's right to cut in peace. If this post allows a single fellow self-harmer a moment of rest in a situation brimming with guilt and blame, well, I will count this post a success.

The definition of self-harming/disfigurement/mutilation tendencies should, in my opinion, cover a broad range of definitions to suit the broad range of expression through self-harm. Not only should this blanket cover the traditional 'cutting', but burning, bruising, scratching, hair-cutting, and more should be considered as well. From my own observations and volunteer work with people seeking advice on their mental health issues, I have come to understand that self-harm tendencies are rampantly apparent in pre-teen youth. The 'official' average age that one starts self-harming has been stated to be between the ages of 14 and 16. However, in my own uncontrolled, unofficial, imprecise data, the numbers can appear to be quite a bit lower than even that. After combing through the emails of people I have helped with their self-harming habits and through observation of a mental health forum that I frequent, I have found that a staggering 73% of what I have observed admitted to starting self-harm between the ages of 10 to 13, with over half of that percentage specifically being the age of 11. While this data may not be by any means reliable, the pairing of these numbers with my own experience with self-harm may be alarming for some who are not familiar with the concept of child mental health. This data was important to me because, as someone who was once 11 years old, snipping my wrist with a pair of scissors, I have, after all of these years, felt incredibly alone in that. It is an observation of mine that I dearly wish had more awareness, for the sake of the other 11 year olds who are inevitably out there, hurting.

Misconceptions and stereotypes on the self-harmer stems from the misunderstanding of the why. One such misconception is that all self-harmers are seeking negative attention through their self-harm. While it is true that there are individuals who use self-harm as a method of seeking attention, rather than being the negative attention that is the misconception, it is, instead, often a cry for help. Yes, some of these harmers may be looking for your attention — they may be reaching out to you by displaying their harm to you in order to get the appropriate help for their inner turmoil. To dismiss a harmer who is reaching out for help can be a dangerous move, which makes this particular misconception in definite need of awareness.

While I was a very private individual at 11-years-old, my self-harm was a bit of a cry for help when I first began. I had been sexually molested at 8-years-old up until I turned 11 and have experienced anxiety since before I can remember, and depression since my early pubescent years. I began to have suicidal thoughts at 10-years-old. Being 11, I was overwhelmed by emotions that very few adults could cope with, let alone a child, and I turned towards self-harm as a method of expressing the pain within myself that I had troubles coming to terms with, even defining. Unfortunately, when my mother discovered that I had been cutting my wrists, she handled the situation quite poorly. The reason for why I was self-harming was demanded from me, not coached out of me gently. I was yelled at, and made to feel ashamed for what I had done, without any real regard for why I had done that in the first place. More importantly, I was simply told to stop, and I was dismissed as going through a phase that would eventually come to a close. Preferably right then and there.

This does not appear to be an isolated incident. Over and over again, I am seeing stories of sufferers who have been rejected and dismissed by family members for their chosen method of expression. The concept of teenager phases is a dangerous one — there is often a reason for perceived 'fads' within teens that stems from a serious underlying issue that should be addressed right away. Had I been coaxed gently into therapy at that tender age of 11, much of what I later go through may have been prevented. Instead, therapy was brought up and used as a threat, rather than a solution to the problem; in that heated moment where my mother lost her temper over what I had done to myself, she had me convinced that going to therapy would be a horrible and abnormal thing.

From my mother's reaction, a few things happened: 1. I internalised my depression completely. 2. I moved my self-harm to another, more private location. 3. I stopped reaching out for help altogether.

As one could probably discern from this situation, ignoring this cry for help can have dangerous consequences. I was no closer to developing the skills required in order to handle my traumas in a healthier way, and yet I felt impressionable as a child by my mother's reaction to hide all symptoms of having trauma in the first place. 

Self-harm is not the problem itself, and not a fad. Self-harm is the symptom of a deeper, more emotional problem; a problem waging a war of such violence within the individual that the individual expresses this internal violence on their self. Writing off self-harming tendencies as a phase is also a dangerous stereotype that will lead to more complicated problems later on in the sufferer's life. Consider just how disturbed a self-harmer must be feeling to not only have the urge to harm themselves, but to put themselves through an incredible amount of patience and resolve of inflicting that harm upon themselves. It is incredibly hard to purposely harm oneself. You feel the burning and the pain and your body will instinctively react by pulling you away, and sending signals for you to move away from the source of the pain. Self-harmers have an enormous amount of patience and will to dedicate themselves to actually harming their person. Self-harm is not a fad. It is not a phase. It is not something to turn your back on. As it is so difficult to harm oneself on a regular basis, for some people, self-harm may end up being the wrong option for them in being able to express their deeper hurts. Many people do walk away from self-harm after a while as they tire of the emotional toll that self-harming may inflict upon them, to discover other methods of coping — and then there are some who do not. It has nearly been 10 years since I first began cutting myself. 10 years is not a phase — it has become a primary coping strategy for me. It has become a last resort, after all these years of seeking other strategies that have helped me cope, but there are some feelings that artwork and breathing exercises cannot express.

Another misconception is the connection of self-harming tendencies with suicidal tendencies. It is the general belief that people who are self-harming are doing so as suicide attempts, or working their way up to attempting suicide. While the reason for self-harm differs from one individual to another, self-harm is almost never an actual suicide attempt. Consider this: probably one of the more common forms of self-harm is cutting. Individuals with a mental health illness that encourages suicide are usually victims of violence, and/or have a violent turbulence of emotion within them. There are many types of violence, and individuals who find the idea of suicide to be attractive have typically experienced some form or another of violence. For someone who is suicidal, the overwhelming emotions make suicide attractive in the hope that taking that way out would bring a peace upon the sufferer. Suicidal individuals are, for the most part, seeking peace and rest and relief, and it is important to them to shy away from such a violent end that wrist-cutting would involve. Let's be realistic: wrist-cutting is an extremely inefficient, painful, messy, and slow way to end one's life. Self-harm, on the other hand, is typically used as a coping method to prevent the individual from contemplating suicide. It is a method of survival. Self-harm and suicide attempts are two completely separate symptoms of a problem, where a sufferer may experience one symptom and not the other, or experience both, but with such difference that it makes the two symptoms simply incomparable. My self-harming habit was an act of survival, for me. When my suicidal thoughts overwhelmed me and I began to become terrified that my self-control was slipping in that regard, I would cut. Cutting myself when contemplating suicide allowed for me to lash out somewhere with the negative energy within me that was convincing myself to end my life. After cutting myself, I would experience a period of mournful peace, where the storm inside my head subsides into silence, and I could think and make decisions with some degree of rationality. Cutting helped ground me back into the world and allowed for me to drain my emotions into something less consuming and overwhelming. The mistake of my mother consistently trying to forcibly stop me from cutting myself throughout my teenaged years would have actually have ended tragically for me had she been able to succeed; without the extreme of cutting to balance my suicidal tendencies, I would not be here today. Indeed, when I finally began attending therapy sessions in Doctor Osuch's FEMAP program , the (wonderful) therapist that I was assigned to made it clear to me that she understood the dangers of forcing me to stop, and bade me to continue with the habit if that is the only coping strategy available to me. The contrast of my mother's overreaction and the understanding that I found with my professional therapist blew me away, and the latter helped me gain the footing that I had first began when I was 11 years old: asking for help.

Before going into my next point, I want to take this opportunity to explain my thought-process through self-harm throughout the years; more for my own benefit than anything else, though it certainly relates to the next bit. A warning that this paragraph will contain more gruesome and intimate details of my experience. As I stated before, I began cutting when I was 11 years old, shortly after the sexual abuse I had undergone that had started three years prior. Cutting began as a private thing (albeit a small reach towards help)  of just cutting small chunks of my skin out with scissors. This use of scissors lasted for about two years for me, and the scars still mark my wrist to this day due to the harsh nature of scissors as a tool. After two years and the confrontation with my mother, I began to internalise quite a bit more and moved to more private locations. My thighs became the target with a knife, and continued to be targeted later with a razor blade. Cutting continued throughout my teenaged years as I struggled with what had happened to me as a child, and with my struggle of being raped repeatedly by my high school partner over the course of 3-4 years. The relationship had felt wrong for a long time, without my realising that coercion is defined as rape. After the final and more violent rape that this person committed against me, where he didn't even bother with coercion, I fell into a psychotic depression. Psychotically depressed is depression pushed to the limit to the point where the sufferer is hearing voices and hallucinating, and are six times more likely to commit suicide. Coupled with the growing need to survive against the odds of me inevitably attempting suicide and with my hatred of myself 'for getting raped' (read: rape culture), my cutting spiralled to the point where the skin on my legs remains permanently scarred. Because I had been sexually abused for the majority of my life up until this point, I targeted areas that had to do with my womanhood and my hatred of my body for 'luring' my attackers. (read: psychotically depressed. minimal rational thought. not actual current belief.) The amount of blame and guilt and loathing that I rested at my own feet for being the victim made my cutting of what defined me physically as a woman a sort of symbolism. I cut my thighs, my hips, my stomach, and my breasts. I cut because I blamed myself, and these parts of me. I cut to make myself and those parts of me undesirable, so that it would never happen again. I wanted to repulse and withdraw. This became a core theme for my self-harm: blaming myself for appearing pretty to others, feeling that I did not deserve to look this way, feeling that I needed to repulse. When I had undergone my surgery last year, the guilt and blame shook my mental state to the core in a way that I had never experienced before. It still has not disappeared.. It was worse than my rape, and affects me to a greater extent still. I felt like a murderer and I mutilated myself to a horrible extent after that. The privacy that I had withdrawn into exploded into a need to convince others that I was deserving of punishment, and my cutting traveled from my thighs and back to my wrists again. I chopped off most of my hair and purposely cut it in an unappealing fashion, barely an inch long, because I felt like I didn't deserve to have pretty hair and perhaps being undesirable would make me less of a target for being victimised again. 

And so we move on to the next point of this subject: the problems with the available 'alternatives' for self-harmers. These methods send a pain sensor to the brain without the physical marks, and they are 'supposed' to give the same sense of satisfaction that would be experienced with actual self-harm attempts. These methods range from snapping an elastic band against your wrist to feel the sting without a physical cut, to holding a bag of ice against your wrist until you get a burning sensation upon the skin, also without leaving a mark. I feel that these methods were pushed on me too readily without the suggester taking the time to analyse my particular reason for self-harm in the first place. Consider that my particular relationship with self-harm was to mutilate myself and make myself repulsive. I actually did not like the pain. I hated it, did not want it, and tried to experiment with tools that would give the best mark with minimal burn. My goal was to make myself ugly, and undesirable; to punish myself with gaping and bleeding wounds that would leave permanent and raised scarring. These methods, though I did try them, did not imitate my intimate connection with self-harm and the intensive symbolism that I had invested in it. Without careful diagnosis and consideration for the many variants of self-harm that are out there, unique to each and every person who indulges in the habit, careless advice such as this without follow-up can also have dire consequences. Again, this misconception of a 'quick fix' stems from the belief that self-harm is the problem, not the symptom. Without delving into the reason for the self-harm and the unique symbolism that each person assigns the self-harm to represent, there is no generic 'fix' for the issue. These alternatives ARE proven to be successful to a point, but to generalise that it should work for all self-harmers is a statement that such an activity should be easy to stop, or ease out of.

In this case, I had to help myself, and personalise a method of easing my self-harming tendencies while also targeting the self-esteem and self-loathing issues that the self-harm stems from. I'm going into this detail on the off-chance that this may help someone down the line.

As my habit stemmed from self-loathing issues, I used it as a venting method to channel my frustrations with myself and my life into a physical wound. After doing this, and draining myself of that violent energy, I would be left with a.. sort of fuzzy, hazy feeling; a clarity in my mind that made me rather receptive to compassion and personal thought. Post-cutting would place me in a state of quiet exhaustion. I took advantage of this state of mind and took painstaking measures to truly take care of my wounds. I will dab at them gently with water to clean away the blood, and then dab gently with hydrogen peroxide to sterilise, and keep pressure and bind the wounds. While I did this, I would feel a rare tenderness for myself; almost like how a nurturing mother would clean and bandage the scraped knee of her young child. After venting the negative energy contained within me that I held against myself, I was then nurturing and caring for myself; I took the opportunity to pity me and what I had been through, to mourn my wounds, and most importantly, my sense of self-worth improved greatly.

I suppose it's getting late, so I'm going to wrap this up. Abrupt, I know. I suck at paragraph transitions.

I haven't picked up the razor since that horrible time a year ago, which was coupled with the two-year mark of having been raped. My description is gruesome, but I feel like I would probably be shouldering a lot more self-blame at present if I had not cut; the cutting allowed for me to vent quite a bit of those unjustified feelings that typically surface whenever a person is victimised. Cutting stopped me from suicide. It kept me alive. I was suicidal, definitely so; I have attempted suicide and I have been hospitalised for my urges, but cutting was such a release for me that I was able to mostly curb my desire for my own death. Had I not self-harmed, I fear that my self-blame would have festered to the point where I would have succeeded in ceasing to exist.

I sit here, a year later, and I contemplate my habit yet again. My regrets are beginning to overwhelm me once more. But I'll pull through again, probably, maybe. It would just be nice if I could get a bit of acceptance with that. I hate that I have been made to feel ashamed for so long, because of this habit that has saved my life, and the marks that it has left behind. As cheesy as this sounds, if you find the sight of my legs to be shocking, try and take a look into my soul. I am merely trying to copy the marks on that onto my body, as visual proof. The scar tissue on my legs is nothing compared to the marks that others have made on me, within.

Cutting is definitely not a healthy coping strategy by any means.

But it sure as hell beats dying.

Psychiatric Facilities/Wards Pt 1.

I had planned on touching upon this subject further along the road, but inspiration has taken hold, and this matter cannot wait.

I am here to tell you why in-patient psychiatric wards do not work.

Of course, that is not to say that they can NEVER work, but they would need a complete transformation and revamp on their current policies and understanding. I have taken a keen interest in the stories that people have made available to me of their seeking for help in a supposed 'safe place' for mentally ill patients, people who enroll themselves into a hospital in order to escape the chaotic world and into the arms of professionals who are supposed to be understanding and helpful, only to face the same stereotypes and judgements in this supposed safe-haven. Except this time, it is worse: you are now isolated, cut off, and in the care of 'professionals' who have the authority to do, essentially, whatever they would like to you, without question. Why? Because they are the ones with the degrees, the masters, and you are the crazy in the crazy house.

I am here to voice my concern and to urge realisation of the poor conditions these psych wards offer and for change in the facilities that are located all over the world. And Canada, although quite lacking in their mental health care compared to the other services readily available, is supposed to be the leader of health in all the world, and their institutions considered some of the top in their efficiency. I cannot even imagine, as someone who has been committed into a psych ward in Canada, what that must mean for the institutions in the rest of the world. London especially, with the local world-renowned University of Western Ontario, is held in especial esteem for their modern-day health care provisions. And the psych ward I was admitted into is in London.

I will not get into too much detail of how I came to be there or other minor things, as this blog will simply consist of the issues that arose. To truly explain what had happened and the circumstances would take quite a while. Basically, all that you, as the reader, need to know is that I came to the hospital as a suicidal teenager finally reaching out and seeking help, at the urging of my friends and family. So here are a few of my memories of this modern-day, highly-esteemed, top-quality hospital that I had the honour of experiencing, and how everything was absolutely wrong with it.

First off: The Lies

You walk into the hospital and you say you are suicidal. You are immediately treated differently. You are not a life-threatening case and they have better things to attend to, physical agonies and injuries that require their immediate attention. You are seen as a nuisance, really. You are seen as a call for attention that they could better direct to those who come to the hospital for REAL emergencies, but they cannot turn you away, so they get around to you in the waiting room eventually and, sure, we'll give you a room we suppose... It's been a few hours that you have just been sitting there, waiting, so I suppose you're SOMEWHAT serious about your claim. Sort of. But we really don't understand anyway. Basically, you're treated as though you just walked up to a surgeon in the middle of surgery with tears rolling down your cheeks and a bruise on your finger.
Here is the mistake I made: goddamn movies and their visuals of 'suicidal watch' and 'in-patient' as you simply relaxing in bed with a nurse hovering over you from time to time to make sure you're not, like, you know, killing yourself or anything. And the occasional visit of the psychiatrist who looks so sympathetic and caring and they make all your problems feel all better and they set you up with some real goddamn help so you can go home with relief in your heart and a smile on your face. Finally, a smile.
Nope. I was asked if I was still suicidal, over a long period of time. 12 hours or thereabouts. When they finally realise that I wasn't going to give up my damned claim of suicidal, they ask me if I'd like to be an in-patient. "Oh, yes." I was young. How was I supposed to know? There were no DETAILS. I was a nuisance, after all. I've used up some of their precious time and so I did not deserve an explanation of what that entailed. And me, too stupid to see through the cinematic haze, I do not offer up any questions.
A couple more hours later and they arrive with paramedics and a stretcher and inform you that you will be moved to a more comfortable location best suited for this type of 'problem'. A little alarmed, I go along.
Fast forward quite a long ways: I am in the office with the head psychiatrist. We'll get to what happened in between a little later on.
Do I still feel suicidal? For the thousandth time, YES. Or, well, no, if you gave me means to kill myself I wouldn't do it in FRONT of you, but I strongly feel that if I was to go back to my house I would probably turn my thoughts back to it.
Alright, well we have a place for you here and we can take you in for the care that you deserve. You walked in here freely, and we are so proud of you for that. You can see for yourself if this type of care is the right thing for you and, if not, we'll make arrangements for you to get out-patient care as soon as possible. You are voluntarily admitted into the hospital, we just want you to understand that, so you are free to leave at any time. Here is a contract just to say you understand this and, oh, don't worry about that part, THAT won't happen, don't worry. We won't extend the right we have to keep you involuntarily. You ARE here voluntary, don't worry.

Just sign here.

Something fucking magical and demonic happens when you sign that paper, I swear. You sign your fucking life away. They begin to explain the rules to you. One of them hits you quite badly. "No cellphones". But.. but my friends are all online, they are my support, I will be completely isolated if I don't have that, please don't take that. I'm sorry, it's policy. Please, if it's your policy, I don't want to be here. I can't have my support system taken away from me. They are part of my healing process. Tears form in your eyes, as you realise that your support system is just TOO important to you to have it removed. You are upset, because you realise that this will not be the help you want after all, and you are disappointed that you had just spent the last 24 hours getting here, only to know that it just won't work after all. The doctor sees the tears and your distress. The doctor quietly takes his leave for a moment while you chat with the nurse in a sad, shy manner. He returns some time later with a frown on his face.
Hmm... I just got off the phone with your father. He is under the impression that you should stay here. He mentioned a painting you had been working on that had... some rather disturbing images on it. Of course, I can't keep you here based on a painting, but hmm.. it sounded quite disturbing indeed, and you must be in a lot of distress to paint such a thing. But we can't use it as a reason. But we will anyway.
No, doctor, I can't stay here. I have to have the support of my friends and my phone is the only method of communication that I have with them right now.
I'm very sorry you feel that way. Are you SURE you won't reconsider?
I can't stay here. I have to leave. I want to go home.
But you SAID you were suicidal.
I know that I said that, but I feel like I will be better off with other forms of help. I believe that I have the strength to hang in there until I find the help I need now that I have gotten the ball rolling.
Unfortunately........ miss...... you seem to be in distress right now.....
I'm just a little upset that this isn't what I expected it to be.
I understand, but, hmmm.... No, you appear to be in near hysterics, actually.
Silence.
I'm afraid I cannot let you leave, yes. I cannot with clear conscience let you walk out the door knowing that you are capable of taking your life. You have been committed to this psych ward for a 72 hour watch, and once that is up, we will determine if you are.... safe enough to leave.

----

I cannot tell you how many stories like my own have been experienced by others such as myself all over the continent. I estimate perhaps 80% of the stories had this exact same bullshit happen to them. The 'voluntary' safety-net that they use against you, until you sign away your rights on that bullshit contract upon admission. I am not the only one this has happened to you. This is a scheme that seems to be a regular practice within the psychiatric wards. I do not actually believe that they actually get many 'involuntary' patients, who are forced from the get-go to endure the '72 hour watch'. From what I have seen, the majority of the patients who opt for the in-care walk in free and voluntary, and are confined against their will once they realise the true isolation they will be confined to should they stay. Their observations and refusals don't matter in the end. Once you sign that paper, and once the doctor deems it so, your word is rather worthless. Who are you, deranged person, to question the word of the head psychiatrist?

You become nothing when you enter the psych ward. You are voiceless. Anything that comes out of your mouth is unnatural and damning. You are now an in-patient to your local psychiatric ward.

Next to come:
-Disregard for Patient
-Isolation and Imprisonment
-Abuse of Sedatives and Drugs
-Lack of Psychiatric Care
-Post-traumatic Stress