The Safety of Pain

I shall not say much more than that I am glad the internet did not exist for that period of my life.

I have no intention with the following except to continue with the story of a lost soul. This next part happened around the same time as I was in my first gay relationship. Definitely compartmentalising! And evasive as my girlfriend had no idea that this was another part of my life. In fact, no one that I actually spent time with, had any idea that this was happening. Perhaps I had more bruises… perhaps I was cutting more. Most of the scarring was in areas not exposed. I was an extremely accomplished liar by that time.

At that time, I had not heard of any one cutting and years later when I began teaching, I was curious and a little surprised that teachers did not understand why our kids were self-harming.

My first foray into self-harming was accidental. I was angry about something and went off by myself to do something practical. I had a v-shaped lino cutting tool and I was attempting to remove glue from a small table that Mum had asked me to fix. At one point the blade slipped and slammed through an opposite finger.

Dissociation kicked in and I studied the protruding blade and counterbalanced handle, mesmerised by how it moved around as I flexed my hand. I looked up to see my younger brother – incidentally the cause of my anger – he looked fascinatedly sick at the blood and dancing handle. Of course, in the way of siblings, I chased him, laughingly thrusting blood and handle at him. His fear of the blood amused me no end and I suddenly realised that I was no longer angry. Although at the time, I did not realise it, I had discovered a ‘safe’ way to deal with my ever present rage.

Until that time, I used to climb onto our roof and stand for ages near where the power lines came into the house. Thankfully, I never overcame my fear of previous electric shock as I considered that this would be a good way to exit the world. We had all been taught the dangers of electricity. Part of my reluctance also stemmed from the fact that my family would have been upset had I died. They never would have understood why. Eventually, in my early teens, I realised that to kill myself, I would first have to kill my family to save them from the pain of my death. (I seem to have been a slightly disturbed child…LOL…YA THINK!?)

One day, I addressed the idea of my death with my younger brother. He told me that he would not miss me. I was quite relieved, because it meant that he would be spared from my previous plan. I had also decided how to kill myself and not make too much mess. I had planned to empty our freezer and climb into a plastic garbage bag. I would slit my wrists and the ensuing blood would eventually freeze into something easily bagged and disposed of. In retrospect, the freezing process may have prolonged my life and I would have been found, thawed and committed into an institution for the insane. Of course, I would have had to kill a number of animals as well, so that they would not suffer from neglect or alternatively turn feral and ravage the countryside. Even writing this disturbs me somewhat, as I look at how monsters are formed.

Early abusers were left behind when we moved to a new area, but the damage inflicted on my psyche was still buried deeply… and the only explanation for the previous bizarre and deeply disturbing thought processes just mentioned. All I can say is that I am so glad I had committed myself to God as a very young child and He kept me through all, all, all circumstances. Of course, that did not stop the natural consequences of the many stupid choices I made over time.

TBC...