Into the Mind of a Masochist

WARNING: This material may be triggering to some in the cutting community. Please don't read on if you struggle with self-harm or masochistic tendencies and you’re on the edge right now. 

Those who don't self-harm will never understand those who do. And they won't because they haven't experienced the pull of a major addition. Imagine falling off a cliff, then, trying to stop in mid air? Not that they should experience cutting-driven masochism, because it really is horrible.

On the other hand, everyone is vulnerable to some addiction. We’re all addicted to food and air in a major way. Try not breathing for two minutes and you’ll have some idea of the seriousness of a cutting addiction. Deprived of air, all you can think of is taking your next breath—cutting takes over your brain like that.

Would it ever help, then, to tell a cutter that self-harm does nothing for them, that it won’t fix anything, or that they can and should just stop? Logic won’t work here nor will simply taking the rational high road.

Here’s what it’s like for someone caught in the grip of a full-blown cutting addiction.

Cutters out there, if you are easily triggered, better not read on, or return to this section when you’re feeling stronger.

For those concerned about a cutter, I want you to keep an open mind so you’ll come to understand where the addiction gets its power. Also, I may be using low-impact words, but don’t be fooled. Self-harm is NOT something you’d want to see anyone doing on any level.

During a cutting addiction, most everything in the person’s life will get worse, and though they may want to quit, it isn’t something you can just snap yourself out of.

As you read on, I’ll be referring to you as if you harm yourself so you can walk a mile in our shoes before judging us.

I will be focusing on cutting since that was my main method of self-injury and because it is also the primary form of self-harm being practiced out there.

Here is a glimpse into the mind of someone who suffers from masochistic impulses.

The thought to hurt yourself returns again and again—echoing through your mind like the heartbeat of a monster. What began as an occasional indulgence now happens more and more frequently. Somehow, cutting has become the solution to all of your problems—your savior—your Sir Lanc…elot.

Perhaps you heard about it from a friend, or found out that some students at school were cutting. Even a well-meaning school assembly about bullying or racism can refer to it. It might have happened quite by accident. You slipped holding a scissor or rubbed against something sharp, drawing blood. It could have even popped into your head all on its own. No matter how, once it did the thought of cutting never left—beckoning like Captain Ahab’s addiction who though dying on Moby Dick’s massive body, called his crew to their deaths as well.

You might be thinking, why would anyone even give something as self-destructive as cutting a second thought? You know it’s bad. You know it really can’t fix anything. Despite all that, you yearn to try it at least once. You have to see how it feels.

You’ve hated yourself for awhile now, and are feeling the need to express that self-loathing. You don’t tell others what you’re dealing with for fear they’ll think you’re a wuss.  Or worse, they’ll pity you and offer false hope and ridiculous assurances like, “Just hang in there…everything will work itself out.”

Anyway, you know that this is your problem and there’s no Harry Potter around to wave a magic wand and make it all disappear. No matter what anyone says, you’re still going to find yourself disgusting. It’s about knowing you’re to blame for not being good enough, for being such a failure at everything, for being completely worthless.

Another long, hard, dreary day and like always you feel worn down, numb, and empty inside. Nothing seems to matter anymore. You feel disconnected from everyone, as if there is an invisible barrier you can’t breach. Sure, to the outside world you still laugh and talk like you usually do, but it’s all staged and you’re experiencing perpetual stage fright—not knowing if you’ll ever get a part in the failing play of a life that’s doing poorly at the box office.

You can’t feel anything anymore—not happiness, not sadness—you want to cry, but the tears won’t come. Desperate to literally crawl out of your skin, your body feels like a maximum security prison cell with no way to break out.

The Grim Reaper taps you on the shoulder…why not end it all…but despite the apparent hopelessness of your situation, surprisingly suicide isn’t really on the table. You wouldn’t cause your family and friends such terrible grief. You may be afraid of death, not knowing what will happen on the other side. Whatever makes people actually kill themselves, you’re not motivated that way.

You just need to feel something again—anything but the dark relentless emptiness that engulfs you day after day.

That’s when you decide—to cut.       

You struggle with the decision, but to you there aren’t any other alternatives. You refuse to carry on like a mindless, bloodless extra in Warm Bodies.

Again, there’s no reaching out, especially now that you know there’s something wrong. You’re wary about how others would react if they knew you were cutting yourself.

You pick up the razor, or scissors, or anything sharp. Sitting in a private place, you can’t believe this is really happening. The blade shakes in your hand from anticipation, apprehension, and primal fear. Part of you wants to pull back, so you hesitate. You squash that resistance and pressure yourself to go ahead. You have to feel something again—to PROVE YOU EXIST.

You’ll only do this once, you promise yourself, just to see what it’s like, then, you’ll never touch the blade again. Tentatively, you prick your skin with the razor. The first time stings and there’s a little spurt of blood. It’s just a scratch, really, so there’s nothing to worry about.

But…that isn’t enough.

You need more so you do it again, but deeper this time. You accidentally press a little too hard and end up gushing blood. This time it hurts—a lot! You gape at the thick, viscous, crimson liquid and quickly grab some toilet paper to stop the bleeding. At first, panic sets in, but once that subsides you realize that you are feeling something—something GOOD.

You’re lightheaded and your heart is racing, but it’s a RUSH. You like this new sensation. You haven’t felt anything in so long.

The vow you made to only cut once…that’s dumped in the trash bin of broken promises. You continue to cut—and you want to, you need to feel that high again.

You make a new promise to only cut occasionally, but that soon changes to every day, then, every few hours.

Now you’re addicted…now you can’t get enough.    

You think about cutting every second of every day. It’s either in the forefront of your mind, or lurking like a thief in your subconscious, but it’s always there—beating like an endless pulse. You’re constantly planning your next cut in every detail; when, where, what, how and for how long. You’re thinking ahead about what to say if someone sees your scars. You’ve worked it all out so you can continue your addiction without anyone noticing.

You’ll hide your scars by wearing long sleeves, or cut on hidden places like your thighs. You’ll make up stories about where the cuts came from and avoid the kind of close physical contact where someone might feel the ridges on your scars, which might make you flinch from the pain if they’re not healed.

You’ll avoid public places such as pools or beaches where you might have to change into a tell-all bathing suit. You stock up on medical supplies for when your cutting sessions get a bit out of hand, so you don’t bleed to death or worse, get blood all over everything which might give you away. You close yourself off from meeting new people; paranoid that they might become suspicious of you.

Whenever something bad happens, you cut. Whenever you fail at anything, you cut. Whenever you do something stupid, you cut. You want to punish yourself for being the pitiful looser that you are, and whenever you cut, that beautiful burning sensation is your reward. You’ve gotten vengeance upon your slovenly, useless self making up for every single one of your terrible flaws.

You begin to despise and loathe yourself more and more, which drives you to cut more and more. You want to see the blood, feel the pain, and drown in the euphoric after-flow of endorphins. You want to rip yourself to shreds—tear yourself apart.

You start to see blood everywhere whenever you’re in the throws of a cutting urge. You imagine blood dripping from the ceiling, pooling on the floor, on your skin or even falling from the sky like some sick scene from a slasher flick. You’ll see new cuts on your body in places you intend to cut later.

Time passes. You might be cutting for weeks, months, or even years before finally deciding to tell someone—because you know you need help for anything to change. The problem, you’re not really sure you want help. That might mean giving up cutting and you don’t want to stop—but you know you have to. All the hiding and secrecy is wearing on you. Perhaps if you told someone you trusted, you’d feel better.

So, you break your silence and tell your best friend.

The words are nearly impossible to get out. You stutter, sputter, stumble, stammer and somehow continue speaking by taking deep breaths to keep yourself from hyperventilating. Finally, the words come out, “I cut myself.”

With no idea how they’ll react, you prepare for the worst. At first, they are stunned, then shocked. They’ll never understand why you would want to hurt yourself. They ask the inevitable questions, “Why are you doing this?” or “Can I see?” You give some vague answers. You show them some of your older, less prominent scars so they won’t freak out as much—or maybe you get a little scared and decide not to show them.

Then, the nagging begins. They go off of you, “You’re stupid for harming yourself,” and, “You’re being so selfish. Just think how fortunate you are compared to so many others,” or, “You could bleed to death,” and, “Cutting is pointless and won’t fix anything.”

You try to help them understand, but they won’t budge. At that point you just tune them out.

You knew they wouldn’t get it. You knew it would be pointless telling them. Now, you regret saying anything and swear never to tell anyone ever again.

Their judgmental lecture was useless. They begin to distance themselves from you.

Of course, they won’t tell anyone—you made them promise, and even though they didn’t understand, you can still trust them, right? To make sure they keep your secret, you continue being their friend and work hard not to upset them in any way. One wrong move and they might just betray you.

Basically, you keep it to yourself and continue your self-harm behavior, but you begin to feel the building strain from both cutting and keeping such an intense secret. It makes you even more moody and restless. You’re running out of places to cut where no one can see. More than anything, you’re actually beginning to feel much worse, not better.

Like most addictions, now you have to go deeper and deeper to feel anything. As if that wasn’t bad enough, the sense of emptiness and self-hatred returns sooner after each session, forcing you to cut more often. You actually start feeling even more depressed each time the rush from cutting wears off. You want help, but are still too afraid and too worried about what people will think of you once they find out. Most of all, you’re too afraid of having the one thing that feeds your addiction taken from you.

A secret of this life-and-death significance just can’t remain undiscovered forever.

Eventually, someone finds out. They might yell, scream, cry, threaten and even outright reject you. They’ll blame you for lying and betraying them.

You don’t see it that way—it wasn’t any of their business to begin with. They didn’t have to know and you never wanted them to, but now that they do, things aren’t the same between you.

Once you’re outed, therapy is inevitable. You resist. You still want to cut. OMG…now you have to spill all to a complete stranger—someone with the power to declare you insane and lock you up in a loony bin! They’ll put you on meds. Will they help?

From that point on, recovery is road littered with landmines. You might end up isolated in a hospital, tied down to a bed to keep you from harming yourself, or drugged out of your mind into zombie-like compliance. You can be labeled with a mental illness—a shackle you’ll be burdened with for the rest of your life. And, despite all the professional intervention, you’ll still feel the urge to cut.

Then, the roller coaster starts—you’ll rise and fall, then, rise and fall again only it seems like this ride from hell will never end.

Eventually, though, you will recover.

You’ve stopped cutting and you finally feel better than you have, perhaps ever—not whole yet, not happy yet, but better. At least you feel content enough that the demon of self-hatred is not driving the urge to cut as much—but it’s always there, lurking in the shadows of your troubled mind like a nightmare that will never end.

On the up side, you no longer think about cutting every second of every minute of every day. Now, you understand why you can’t cut anymore—because it never actually helped you. It was your ultimate alluring poison, but it only temporarily killed the demons that drove your addiction.

Your wounds healed and your scars faded, but they would always be there, a constant reminder of your past struggles—battles that left invisible scars on your heart and mind as well.

*********

I know this was difficult for those of you in the self-harm community to read, no matter where you are in your addiction cycle.

For those of you on the outside looking in, perhaps worried sick about someone who is harming themselves, this honest, probing, revealing look into the mind of a masochist will hopefully help you reach out in a more understanding and effective way.

Outline

CUTTING ADDICTION

As Powerful as a Narcotic

Not Easy to Stop

INTO A MASOCHIST’S MIND 

The Idea to Cut Will Persist

You Want to Punish Yourself

On purpose or by Accident, the First Cut

It Hurts, but you Love the Pain

You Feel Something, Finally

ADDICTION INTENSIFIES

Now, You Can’t Stop

But Everything Gets Worse, Not Better

The Secret Comes Out

Therapy is Inevitable Now

Finally, you’re Not Cutting Anymore

You have your Life Back