Caitlin.
*Trigger warning: This post may raise issues for readers who have experience with self-harm, depression or suicide.
by CAITLIN DACEY
The saying ‘your body is a canvas’ has become a startlingly accurate description for many teens, as they paint themselves red with blood, slashing and slicing into themselves to gain some form of emotional release. It’s called self-harm, a self-deprecating, harmful, emotionally and physically scarring problem, which has become startlingly commonplace in today’s society.
It’s not a new problem, nor is it an issue with a quick fix. It’s emotional turmoil, bubbling to the surface and having a vastly detrimental impact for many teens. Self-harm isn’t limited just to teens; it has a far reaching effect and can mark anyone. Short, tall, slim, curvy, black, white, male, female, young, old, poor, rich- the list goes on and on, and absolutely anybody can be affected. However, it is teens, with their melodramatic tendencies and raging hormones, which have become particularly susceptible to the terrors of self-harm.
Six months ago, self-harm was a thing of fiction for me. Don’t get me wrong, I knew it existed, and I knew it was affecting many people; it’s just that it wasn’t affecting me. And then it started. It was my best friend Charlotte. It was small at first, a nick or scratch here or there, able to be passed off as a collateral damage from working at Macca’s, but then it got worse. Dark moods. Brooding expressions. Constant crying. Then the cuts turned from small and seemingly harmless to large and deliberate, tainting her skin red. Sure enough, my darling best friend was cutting. She was a mess.
Each morning she would text me to ask me to bring a Band-Aid to school, and each day my heart sank as I pulled the Band-Aid box out of the cupboard, knowing I would never deny her, in an effort to try and keep her as safe as I could. Eventually, I went and bought a first aid kit, and each morning I would take her down to my locker, clean her wounds and dress them as best as I could. And each day I would go home and worry about her, praying for her to get better, begging her to go and talk to a professional. She was caught up in a complicated life, and she was spiralling downwards, fast.
But then came the worst thing of all, and it wasn’t from her; it was another close friend, one of my nearest and dearest, who said his goodbyes. Only, nobody realised they were goodbyes at the time. My friends and I had gone home from school, just like any other day. That night we logged on to Facebook and checked our phones, just like any other night. Only, on that particular night, there was a message for each of us. A message from our wonderful Dean, telling us that he loved us, how much we meant to him, and finally, goodbye. Each of us thought it was just Dean being Dean, spewing garbled niceties whilst in a particularly whimsical mood.
But it was the next morning, when he didn’t show up to school that we thought ‘that’s odd, he usually texts someone when he’s away’. Then came an offhand comment from someone; ‘Dean said the nicest thing to me last night, just out of nowhere!’ and the pieces began to fall into place. We re-read all of our messages, and my heart shattered. We finally realised that he was saying goodbye. It was a God-damned farewell, and none of us had seen the signs. We were just a bunch of seventeen year old kids, with a sad friend and a bunch of final goodbyes. And in that moment, I realised that we had to do something. I couldn’t roll over and let him die.
So we got in contact with his family, and they assured us that he was alive, but deathly sick. Then the next day, Dean made a confession. He’d swallowed pills. He’d been so consumed with self-hate, so ashamed of himself that he felt like his only option left was to end it. None of us had seen the signs. He was just a sad, lonely, confused teenager, who had nowhere to turn and was so desperate that he did the worst possible thing he could. He was struggling with being gay with trigger-happy parents who hate homosexuals, the pressure to amount to something more than a struggling, yet brilliantly talented actor, and the social pressures that were put on him to be ‘normal’. It’s a terrible thing, for someone to resort to that. Especially when you’re just a seventeen year old, trying to find yourself in a world full of expectations.
Which brings us back to Charlotte. After that, she got worse, so much worse. There were more cuts, heavier tears, deeper depressions. And I couldn’t do it anymore; I couldn’t patch her up and sit with her in the bathrooms while she sobbed, trying to comfort her, day after painful day. I couldn’t wait for her to realise that she desperately needed support; I was the only one in the position to take her to someone, to get her help. And that’s exactly what I did. I convinced her to talk to our favourite teacher, knowing full-well that she would demand that Charlotte talk to the school counsellor. And demand she did. That day, she went to him and told him all about her terrible situation. Abusive parents, an alcoholic mother, dreadful self-hate, detrimental thoughts of herself. But she didn’t mention the cutting, and I realised that she would never be the one to initiate that conversation. So I did.
Your body is a temple.
The next day, I went to the counsellor, told him everything and begged him to help her. That afternoon, he spoke with her again and ‘happened to notice’ the marks on her arms. She had no idea I’d told him. Actually, she still doesn’t know I spoke to him. After that, a pattern began to form. Charlotte would see the counsellor; she wouldn’t tell him all of the information, so I would. I would make the decisions for her, and I would live with the guilt when things got worse because of it. I thought it was helping, and I thought things were getting better. Then I realised, it doesn’t matter what I think, it only matters what she thinks. Even if things were getting better, if she still thought they were getting worse, then that’s what she would react to. The battle was all in her head.
It was – is – a monstrous battle. An internal fight which culminated in her preparing to slit her own throat. It was only a beautifully-timed phone call from her boyfriend which stopped her in the end; a call that I am thankful for, each and every day. My beautiful best friend is still with me, struggling to get better, and I only wish that she could deal with her inner demons in another way.
Charlotte and Dean are just two of hundreds of Australian teens who attempt suicide each year. It’s a shocking reality, and it’s one that I have to live with every day. The story of the victim’s closest friends is not one often told, and many people don’t realise the ripple effect self’-harm has. How much it affects friends and family. And so, if anyone out there is me, or Charlotte or Dean, I beg you to take something away from my story; talk to someone. See a professional. I guarantee that it’s better than doing nothing. Because your body is not an object to display your self-hate, it’s a temple, which needs to be protected, and the life inside needs to be saved, no matter what. Death is never the solution, and your body is not its canvas.
Caitlin Dacey is a student, doughnut lover and soon-to-be journalism major. She loves writing, reading and photos, and can be found on tumblr here.
If this post brings up issues for you, or you just need someone to talk to, please call Lifeline on 131 114. You can also visit the Lifeline website here and the Beyond Blue website here.
Comments
21 Comments so far
Good article.
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I started self-harming as a child. I can remember doing it when I was about eight years old but I don’t know what started it. In those days no one knew much about self-harm, so it’s not nothing I ever saw or read about and thought I would try. It just came out of nowhere and no one noticed because I was good at hiding my little scars. It got worse as a teen and I became addicted to it. I had a friend who confided in me that she was cutting and not knowing what else to do, we talked to one of our teachers and I admitted I was doing it too. I guess we sort of helped each other for a while but I never really stopped self-harming and had multiple suicide attempts over the years.
Even with all of the help around me I still struggle with this. It breaks my heart to see others are hurting but I do not show any love or kindness towards myself.
My last “incident” was yesterday.
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This is pretty much my first time ever admitting to my issues with self harm.
It started back when I was still in high school- Probably about fifteen or sixteen, so six or seven years.
It started as small stuff- Little cuts, scratches, really. Because it freaking HURT. It hurt, but it was my only outlet for my extreme anger or self hatred. Instead of mouthing off, I cut, or I punched a wall, or dug my nails into my arms/hands, or bit my tongue- Anything that hurt.
It got worse as I graduated High School, lost my job and couldn’t find another one. I was broke, incredibly unhappy in my schooling and overall miserable about every aspect of my life- I had no idea how I was supposed to change any of it.
I had had suicidal thoughts for years, even before I had started self harming. But I didn’t ever self harm to kill myself- Self harm was always about coping with my feelings I couldn’t express in any way, shape or form.
I remember one time, when it was really bad- I was probably about 20 or 21- I would be walking around with my entire thighs covered in hundreds of small scratches. It stung like mad, but not only was it a reminder of my release, it was my own sick secret.
The worst was one time when I got so furious I actually jammed a knife into my leg- I still have a rather large scar, and probably should have gotten stitches in that one.
I now work with animals, and have for a while… And I have, in the past, passed of self-inflicted cuts as scratches from grumpy clients.
I actually saw a psychologist for a while, and I stupidly lied to her- I was in no way ready to deal with how I felt, so it was easier to pretend I was fine- I would go to my appointments, legs covered in cuts, and pretend everything in my life was perfect and I loved myself.
I still struggle every day. I had a relapse after several months of ‘handling’ my feelings myself- And I have decided once and for all that hey, actually, I do need help from someone who CAN help me.
No one knows I self harm- I never wear short shorts, even when it’s hot. No one ever sees my scars, and until I choose to let people, no one ever will. For me, the cuts are not about anyone knowing- It’s about me coping with how I feel, when I can’t express myself properly. It’s sick, and I know that- But that’s how I see it.
I really cannot imagine people I know knowing about my self harm- It mortifies me. I see people say cutting is ‘attention seeking’- If I wanted attention, I would find some other way than scarring my own body.
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I cut myself for awhile when I was about 15 or 16. I didn’t have any huge problems or anything, but I was so down and it was some kind of emotional release for me. In retrospect it seems downright stupid.
The worst part is that 5 years later you can still kind of see the scars on my wrist, they’re not deep but particularly when I’m tanned, you can see them if you look. It mortifies me. I wish I’d thought about that when I was younger.
The worst thing is when my parents found out, all they seemed to care about was the cutting itself, not the reasons why. They were scared I guess, and they thought if they yelled and screamed at me for cutting, the problem would go away. Even though I did stop, it was a couple of years before the hurt inside went away. I do really think they could have handled that a little better, even thought they are absolutely brilliant parents generally.
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Although I don’t like everything it has to say, and not all people who self-harm do so because they were raped or sexually assaulted, this link/book has a quite comprehensive section on self-injury (starting page 234)
http://resurrectionafterrape.org/RARFree.pdf
For me it was a coping mechanism for (not) dealing with some pretty awful things that happened in my life. When I first sought therapy it was very hard to tell my psychologist about, but I did. She said to me that she would never take away a coping mechanism until she knew I had others that could take its place, and she stuck by that. Its been about three years since I last self-harmed. And I am 42 so it is not just something teenaged girls do.
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I started cutting 20 years ago. Haven’t done much in the last ten years or so because my husband would flip, but I think about it. A lot. Back when I was cutting, no one seemed to notice. I would cut in places that I could hide easily; but sometimes they showed, and a friend might ask what it was, I would make something up and hide the cuts, and it would never get mentioned again.
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I know that it’s important that we talk about this and that we get help for people who need it, but some days, when one too many people have asked about my scars, I feel like a poster child. As selfish as it may be, half of the time I don’t want my experience to help others – I just want it to disappear. Because there isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t wish that I just didn’t do it. That I didn’t ruin my beautiful skin with these big, fat, ugly scars that just won’t go away no matter how hard I scrub at them – and I do try. I scrub and scrub and scrub hoping that one day I’ll look down and they just won’t be there anymore. Except that I know they’re never going to go anywhere, and that through all these major events in my life – my graduation, maybe my wedding, or the birth of my children, I’ll look down and see my biggest failure and my biggest regret all wrapped up in one, glaring back up at me.
And the worst part, the absolute worst part, is that everybody else can see it too.
So now when people ask me to talk to a friend of theirs, or their daughter, or their cousin or niece or next door neighbour I just tell them the truth: it doesn’t seem like it now, when everything is bad and horrible and you’re hurting, but you will regret what you’re doing to yourself. You’ll regret it but you won’t be able to take it back.
It’s not particularly heartfelt or sympathetic, but it’s the truth. And living with regret is harder than living with scars.
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I recently found out that like a first aid course for physical injuries, there’s a mental health first aid course, I haven’t had a chance to do it yet, but I will and I hope some of you will too, encourage your friends, kids, workplaces everyone, it could make a real difference:
https://www.mhfa.com.au/cms/
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I finished high school over 25 years ago and attended the funerals of 3 students during my senior years. Another friend attempted suicide and was left brain damaged. Another died of an overdose a couple of years after high school, the results of struggling with his homosexuality. I still think of these friends, how none of us saw it coming and how utterly helpless they must have felt to want to end their lives.
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I think you mean ‘counsellor’, not ‘councillor’. Two very different professions!
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I was wondering why on earth some of the girls at my children’s K-12 school were wearing them school jumper in 38 degree heat. I thought that the classrooms may have been a little over airconditioned, perhaps some are hiding this.
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This is very sad.
Can I also suggest the website http://au.reachout.com/ – they are specialists in helping teenagers deal with adolescent demons…
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Your trigger warning should also refer to “self harm” and not just “depression or suicide”. Also, not everyone knows what a trigger warning is, and putting a number to lifeline at the bottom of the article, honestly, does very little to assist.
It is also important to realise that self-harm and suicide (or attempts) are usually two distinct things. As a self harmer, it is important, in terms of isolating the issue and trying to understand the boundaries, to think of things that way. Otherwise, you could become quite lost. The difference between the two should always be emphasised.
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If you’re a parent reading this – LOOK FOR THE SIGNS!
I KNOW you don’t think it’ll be your child but I go to school every day and see SO MANY GIRLS with cuts everywhere. They are SO SO GOOD at hiding it and it is often the prettiest/ smartest/ loveliest of them all but they just don’t see those qualities in themselves.
PLEASE look for the signs and talk to your children. It’s so heart breaking when I know theres only so much I can do for my best friends after school is over and they go home.
xx
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but SashaSecret9000, you can do something more. You can – and I know this is a huge ask – ring or send a note to a parent or the school counsellor. Tell them. That wont destroy your friendship. My son has done that many times over with his friends and they are still friends – he tells them he’s really worried about their safety and is going to help them. It’s tough. but friends can sometimes do that.
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I have done that
I’ve gone with them to the counsellors and their parents know. Some have even been hospitalised.
some parents are sadly still in denial
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my daughter cut.
she cut her wrists, her arms , her stomach, her legs. She saw a counsellor regularly but it wasn’t enough – she escalated the self harming to two suicide attempts. Before anyone asks: we watched and helped as much as we could. We took her to see people – professional people including a psychiatrist many many times – she has since told us that she told them what she wanted them to believe – not the truth.
Now she is ok – we are still vigilant with many sharps pills etc still locked up. Do that if you are worried – dont leave anything for chance in the house. A padlock costs a few dollars for some peace of mind at night.
there is too much to say about self-harming – as a mum, it broke a piece of my heart every time she did it. The scars are there – some fade, some are there like sharp knives piercing my heart when I see them. My daughter is trying to live her life – she wants to live – the pain she felt is easing. And the worse part of it all is that we didn’t see it coming – there was no trigger. It was Teenager angst that almost defeated her. Tell someone if you are worried- tell a trained counsellor like this author did. That’s a start. Tell the parent even – send them a FB message. Dont just talk about it online and worry about them. They need help and you can help them with getting the right sort of help.
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Having read several articles recently regarding the rise in cutting and self harm, I asked my teenage daughter if she knew of anyone who cut themselves. She replied, yeah mum, heaps of girls in my year cut themselves. You can see the scars on their arms.
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Wow, great writing. It’s a very long and hard road for the friends and family of depressed teens. We feel helpless and need to pick up the pieces constantly. It is the most frustrating experience to see someone you love self destruct and not accept or seek help. I wish there was more help available to those who are the support circle and who suffer the ripple effects. I’ve chosen to not publish my name to avoid any further distress.
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Wow, what a heartbreaking yet awesome piece of writing. I’m not a particularly emotional kind of person, usually I view these kinds of stories ‘remotely’ (i.e I have no personal connection therefore it doesn’t affect me greatly). But this, this is a wonderful and sad story that touched my heart. I wish nothing but the best for Caitlin and her friends, and all those suffering the same horrible thoughts <3
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So sad. I had a male friend who killed himself as a teenager after struggling with his sexuality. It seems so much more common today. We live in such a judgemental society and there is so much pressures on our teens. This is an issue of mental health. I hope our governments can recognise this and support the programs needed to target this very real problem. You are a wonderful supportive friend Caitlin and Charlotte is lucky to have you in her life.
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