#self harmer who does not flash

[every-person-for-themselves]

Trigger Warnings

Guess what peeps... today I’m talking “trigger warnings”

So most people laugh and say that real life has no trigger warnings. In actual fact, they do. 

Think of the warnings on games, music, videos, movies. All warning of potential triggers. You also see them at the start of potentially triggering news feeds, at the end of shows with shady content. 

Most of you will not need these warnings, and may, in fact, forget they exist. But for the people who DO need them, they are a godsend. They prevent episodes, prevent the meltdowns caused by potential images and sounds.

Scenarios

Imagine you were in the past raped.

It takes years to get over the psychological damage caused by that traumatic act. Imagine you are having a nice pleasant meal with your family. A movie playing in the background. A movie with no trigger warnings, suddenly images of someone are being raped flash upon the screen. 

You fall right back into that day, where you yourself experienced those traumatising events. Maybe you cry, maybe you shake, maybe you scream, maybe you try to hurt yourself. Or even your family, not really seeing friendly faces but the faces of your abusers.

Your family witness this, yet they can do nothing to help you. All because of the fact that no trigger warnings were issued about the movie. 

Or

Let's say you are a veteran, just home from a very bomb intrusive war. 

You have PTSD.  The news comes on, BAM right into the middle of a warzone shooting. 

You fall right back into the action where you are no longer are. Where maybe you saw your brothers and sisters in arms possibly dying, possibly severely injured, possibly having to relive the deaths that you had to unfold onto civilians before they were blown to pieces by a suicide bomber. Because for a quick shot to the head means no suffering. 

All of this because there were no trigger warnings.

Or 

Imagine you were a recovering self-harmer. a whole 5 weeks clean! You are happily flicking your way through Tumblr when suddenly you come across bloody images full of self-harming cuts. 

You may be thinking just to ‘look away’ but it's not as simple as that. You are drawn to looking.

It triggers something inside your head. You try your best not to do anything, try not to go for your blade... Then you read the caption... something along the lines of “it’s your fault”.

Realistically you know it's not, but that's the thing about mental illnesses, they convince you that it is all your fault, that everything negative that is happening is all on you. Add in possible bad combinations of Anti-Depressants, maybe a bit of alcohol... it all gets too much. Then there goes all of the so called progress. All down the drain.

Because no trigger warnings were issued. Which means your filter cannot do its job of keeping them out.

So what’s my point?

My point is that real life does, in fact, have trigger warnings. 

They do in fact have moments in time where they give viewers of the potentially triggering scenes or noises, advance warning. 

Trigger warnings are useful and are needed.

#triggers #trigger warning #PTSD #rape #raping #flashbacks #self harm #suicide #war #warzone

[gaiatheorist]

Cutting.

TW: Self Harm.

I haven’t deliberately injured myself since June 2nd 2013. I could have thrown myself an anniversary party for ‘Five years clean’ last year, but I had other things on my mind. Apart from the constant, incessant urge to ‘Do something.’ I did caution the last counsellor to think about his phrasing of “Doing something silly.”, with a flash of my eyes, and a very calm, clear “It doesn’t seem ‘silly’ at the time, does it?” I shook him more than I needed to, but if he continues to use that selection of words, with people less-resilient than I am, there’s a risk that his platitude could deter disclosures.

Five offices, probably over a decade ago, I printed out the attachment I’d sent to key staff, and stuck it to the wall, as a reminder for some less-calm, more-flappy colleagues. It started “Treat as first aid.”, and I’m still mildly surprised that I managed to get it past the tone-police, and out into wider circulation, as well as being given permission to run a training session for staff on responding appropriately to instances of self-harm.  

I was, at that point, the only member of staff at that secondary school ‘trained’ on self-harm. We had access to one free place on MIND’s carousel of training courses, and, as much as management knew that I was best-placed to attend, absorb, and articulate the content to wider staff, I did try not to ‘hog’ the places. Nobody else wanted the self-harm one. I can imagine the split-second ‘Yuck!’ face some colleagues would have pulled, and now I’m half-smiling, because I was frequently ‘reminded’ by one manager to try to maintain a neutral facial expression in team meetings. (It was eye-rolling at the ineptitude of one specific colleague, and they were so inept, I genuinely don’t think they ever picked up on it.) 

The ‘Yuck!’ reaction, much like my eye-rolling, is automatic in some people with regard to self-harm, that’s why I started the how-to guide with “Treat as first aid.” It’s an injury, if little Jimmy had fallen over in the playground and skinned his knees, the ‘yuck’ is pushed back by the need to check for bits of gravel, and hope the plasters in the first aid box aren’t those horrible cheap ones that don’t stick properly. Those of us that ‘did’ first aid had that ability to step-back and become very practical, blood, head injuries, vomit, and obviously-broken bones, it’s a version of the plane-crash/seat-belt scenario, you can’t help other people if you’re not safe yourself. (I was guilty of unkind thoughts about some colleagues who didn’t-do first aid, and would demand urgent-assistance from an advanced-first-aider. ‘Urgent’ was originally a code-word, for drop-what-you’re-doing-and-RUN. Over-use watered it down, in the style of the Boy Who Cried ‘Wolf!’, I may not have maintained an entirely neutral facial expression the 20th time I was called out on an ‘urgent’ first-aid to lift the antiseptic wipe and plaster out of the box, and hand them to the student.) 

Some people panic. Some don’t. I don’t, it’s one of the useful elements of my mental health issues. Useful in a high-end crisis, that is, it’s exceptionally draining day-to-day, to be alert and aware at-all-times, the body isn’t designed to cope with constant cortisol. 

The ‘panic’ was one aspect of unhelpful reactions to discovery or disclosure of self-harm. The platitudes were, in my opinion, more harmful. “Oh my God! What have you done that for? Your lovely skin! What would your Mum think?” All very natural, ‘maternal’ responses, to an incident that the observer had deemed unnatural, possibly abhorrent. (I’m parking the strand about ‘God-given, perfect bodies’, it’s too involved.) Self-harm is emotive, and it is difficult for some people to ‘disable’ the projection of their own emotions onto a person who has self injured. Yes, Linda, I know you find it disturbing, but we have an incredibly vulnerable student bleeding, and you’re telling them off for trying to cope the only way they know how, I find your eyebrows disturbing, I’m not mentioning it, am I? 

‘Coping’ is the element that a lot of people can’t grasp. Nail-biting, smoking, buying new handbags, that second glass of wine, that ‘naughty’ slice of cake, they’re coping-mechanisms that don’t involve cutting, so they must be OK, right? Every self-harmer has their own reasons, it’s a broad and sweeping generalisation to say we ‘control the only thing we have’, which is our physical body, but I’ll use it anyway, as an umbrella-term. For some people, self-harm ‘works’, and I feel the need to put a tobacco-style warning here “Smoking kills, don’t start.” (On the packaging for the product, hey-ho, I’ve just bought this pack of cancer, but the writing on it says not to start, so I’ll bin it.) Some people bite their fingernails when they’re stressed, some self-harm, there can be elements of subconscious-automatic to it, as well as the instances where it’s overload, or crisis-response. (Flashback to having to hide my hands under a table at work more than a decade ago, because I’d scratched myself until I bled, and wasn’t aware I’d done so until I noticed the blood under my fingernails. There’s the shame-element of “What have you done that for?”, we know we shouldn’t-do-it, that’s why most of us keep it covered.)    

Keeping it covered, ‘hiding’ it, is the reason I started writing this jumbled-rambling this morning. There is a risk, with vulnerable people, especially, but not exclusively young people, of ‘elective empathy’, of a sort of contagion. When I was at school myself, there were phases of ‘99 burns’, and ‘freeze-burns’ (I still have a scar on my arm from a freeze-burn, spraying aerosol body-spray directly onto the skin from too close a distance.) the phases were-and-were-not self-harm. We were deliberately self-inflicting injuries, but it wasn’t as a coping mechanism in poor mental health, it was a group-thing, and a kudos-thing, there wasn’t any social media, you’d show your mates your burn, or scratch, they’d either like it or not, and then you’d carry on as normal. We were showing off to each other, a really grim version of completing the football-stickers-album, in that we were collecting scars, by showing each other how ‘hard’ we were. (We were, in hindsight, idiots.) 

Instagram doesn’t want to be held responsible for contagion, copying, or a football-sticker “Got, got, need.” tasting menu of self-harm, so the company is taking measures to remove-or-ban content relating to self-harm. Fine business strategy, because there’s potential for legal action if people start saying they wouldn’t have self-harmed if they hadn’t seen someone else do it first. The UK government are pressurising all social media companies to follow suit, in an attempt to appear to be doing something about the current spike in mental health referrals. I AM an expert, if people want that content, they will find it. This is the twist in the tale. The platforms can cut the content, but the driving force behind many of the causes-of-cutting will be the other ‘cuts’. Austerity, in the UK, and the cutting-away of protective mechanisms here, and elsewhere. (Must NOT go off on a side-rant about how the last two years of blatantly damaging decisions by the US president have blunted our collective capacity to be shocked. He’s become normalised, and that shouldn’t be the case.) 

Water on a rock, we’ve absorbed austerity as a concept, as it has eroded us as individuals, and a society. When I left work in 2017, I was on the same salary band as I had been on in 2008, despite ‘absorbing the roles of others who had left through natural attrition.’ By the time I left, I was attempting to do three peoples’ jobs at once, within systems and processes that were stretched too painfully thin to have any hope of being effective. The school staff were fire-fighting, when we should have been preventing the fires catching hold in the first place. We couldn’t prevent them, because the agencies we needed for support were either being cut, or subject to such a high degree of pointless paperwork in the face of lessons-must-be-learned that they couldn’t spend time providing the services. Every single Serious Case Review concerning a death, or near-miss I’ve ever read has highlighted the same issues, time, and communication. If the government continues to cut funding, we will continue to see SCR findings that opportunities to intervene were missed due to time-constraints, and communication failed because there wasn’t the opportunity to repeatedly chase-and-check that actions had been implemented. 

Expanding out from then, to now, there’s a new level of cuts to deal with. I’m currently unemployed and disabled. I’ll always be disabled, the level to which it impacts on my life depends on the NHS. My brain haemorrhage was four years ago this month, and I have only just been referred for the Neurology and Mental Health interventions that really ought to have been in place from the start. We ‘cope’, until we don’t. The NHS is on its knees, I understand that my superficial functioning placed me at ‘the back of the queue’, it also placed me, and a lot of other people at risk. 

The UK disability benefit system hasn’t just been cut, it has been eviscerated. It took me 17 months of fighting to ‘qualify’ for assistance, ‘coping’-but-not-cutting, some people don’t manage that. It’s probable, but not prove-able that if my original application in 2016 had qualified, I wouldn’t be in this state now. It is irrefutably evident that the original decision that I was fit-for-work was incorrect, I placed myself, and others at risk of significant harm by trying to ‘get on with it.’ That length of time isn’t unusual, the deliberate stalling and obfuscation is part of the system, to cut the number of claims paid out. The recent government sound-bite that disability payments have increased will take into account the cost of the ‘Mandatory Reconsideration’ and tribunals, where those of us who can appear in court, to prove we are disabled-enough. In the majority of cases, DWP/PIP don’t even bother to send a representative to court to defend their incorrect decisions.

Universal Credit is absorbing the lower-level disability benefit of Employment Support Allowance. (The lower-rate ESA has been cut away completely, people who would have qualified for that historically now just have a box ticked, to say they have ‘limited capacity for work’.) Cuts. Job Centre staff will be faced with people who may never have been able to work, due to disabilities, and tasked with ‘empowering’ and ‘enabling’ them into employment. Good luck with that. The Work Capability Assessment, even in times of austerity, the government can find funds for that. The statistics on the number of people who die after being deemed ‘fit for work’ are horrendous, as are some people’s accounts of the assessment process. (Mine wasn’t too bad, the doctor decided he had enough information to be going on with when I had an episode of positional hypotension, I don’t suppose he wanted to take the risk of any of my noted brain aneurysms rupturing during the physical tests, imagine the paperwork.) The assessments are unpleasant, in most cases they’re unnecessary, and the ‘reports’ that come out of them are so removed from the reality of what happens during the assessment that people are starting to make covert recordings of them. (Don’t do that, it would likely be deemed inadmissible as evidence due to lack of informed consent. The paragraph on the forms about ‘approved equipment’ for audio-recording is there as a scare-tactic, tick the box to indicate you want DWP to record the assessment, I still haven’t checked my CD to see if there’s anything on it.) 

The number of people who die after being declared fit-for-work is shocking, but so is the number who don’t. We’re a whole different level of ‘Just about managing.’ The financial aspect is starting to be discussed in the media, an encouraging step away from ‘Life of Riley on benefits!’, it’s only enough to survive on if you’re very careful, paradoxical, because some of us have cognitive difficulties, mental health issues, or learning disabilities. It’s not a comfortable lifestyle, none of us would choose it if there was an alternative. In my case, I have a temporary reprieve from being expected to apply for ‘any suitable vacancy’, I’m using that time to try to access NHS provision, to make myself as functional as I can be. People declared fit for work when they really aren’t will be compelled into any kind of work the non-medically-trained Job Centre staff deem ‘suitable.’ Short-term cost-cutting, but at what long-term cost?  A high proportion will rebound back into the benefit systems, either through employers having to dismiss them because they’re not capable of doing the job, or through being in employment exacerbating the health issues, placing even more strain on the NHS.

The icing on the unpalatable cake, in the UK, is the omnishambles of Brexit. The money that has been thrown at it, the schisms and divisions, the pig-headed insistence that “We managed fine in the war!” Cutting ties with the EU has already been referred to  as ‘An act of national self-mutilation’ in the press. The uncertainty about potential outcomes, and the absolute refusal of the PM to consider a second referendum, now that the contingent who genuinely believed ‘No Deal’ meant ‘Nothing Changes’ are a little more furnished with facts is the polar opposite of ‘Strong and Stable.’ A lot of people are struggling with the uncertainty, and, in some, that lack-of-control will lead to self-harm as a coping mechanism. How very kind of the government to limit the ability of individuals to disclose self-harm, ‘for the sake of the children.’  

[fruitsofnolabour-blog]

TATTOOING WHEN MENTAL

Firstly I’d like to add a little old content warning; Tattooing, Self Harm and Mental Health, Bi-Polar Disorder.

Now that’s out of the way…

I spoke recently with a friend, who talked frankly about her history of self harm, and for the first time in a decade, I felt able to engage in a conversation about the act itself. So I made a decision at that moment in the car, that I would open a conversation around it at some point. And now I’ve got round to starting that dialogue with…Myself

I have often been asked about the meaning behind each and every one of my tattoos; in particular what was part of my 5 year getting tatt-ed plan, if they were a much overthought life aspiration or a flippant style choice that I am likely to regret in years to come. The honest answer is that I need them, I want them constantly and I find my collection entirely essential for my life and my mental wellbeing. Tattoos for me are entirely therapeutic and I find it grounding, important and vital so I can develop and maintain stable lifestyle.

The traditional lining for me is the outer boundary of my needs, a tattoo for me needs a boundary the block black; that holds it all together, the deep injections of solid edges and something which will keep me occupied for the majority of the time during the sessions.

The shading however is the variety, with an incredible amount of colour, shade, tone and whip individual to each artist. It is simply the precious moment when the art becomes something more than what is required, the finishing touches.

Getting into the zone is incredibly difficult for me, the first few moments are utter relief, followed by around 12-15 minutes of harrowing uncomfortable, burning, scraping and then as if by some neurological bliss, I switch to complete and utter tranquility. By the time we move to shading, I am coming into the headspace that this session will soon be over. The ending and the peace associated with that. (P.s - most of my tattooists will call utter bullshit on this and attest to the fact I am a whingey whiney bugger.)

I have never had the opportunity to go to a mental health support group, well not one that I’d consider attending. But I can honestly say from the moment I step over the threshold into a tattoo studio; my mindset changes, I don’t feel excitement or lust or even nerves. I just feel ready. I leave anything from 1-8 hours later feeling energised, rooted to the world, connected to myself, I feel content with my new art, the image, the pain and the journey as though the edge has been taken away from the harsh feelings.

I suppose at some points earlier in this piece, it may have already been clear that for me; this is self harm. I remove myself from the “doing” and I have considerable control over the situation, I know what the design is, I know the placement, I know the quality and skill of the person doing it. I am a self harmer, I have for some time suffered with dermotillomania, for those of you who don’t know it is a ritualistic skin picking disorder which in my case is also the scratching of hypodermic needles against my skin. I also have historical issues with different severities of harm from head banging to using cleaning products on my skin.

Tattooing was a way of deflecting the pain, thoughts and ritual. It’s a way to set a date for relief, look forward to it and to cease the obsession with self harm, even if only temporarily.

My tattoos do hold meaning but not in the traditional sense, I can tell you where I was at in my life when it was done. My stresses, worries, pain, where I worked, where I drank and partied, who I was dating. But I can’t tell you some wonderful story about falling in love with the design, sticking it on my high school notebook and waiting 3 years to finally get it done with a friend holding my hand. I can’t tell you I approached Gary at “bog standard tattoo” to pick something off the wall and make it the same as any other flash and I can’t tell you I have my child or dogs name scrawled across my neck in grey patchy blocks.

In the 90’s I struggled being a troubled child, in the 00’s I struggled being a more than troubled teenager and now in 2017, I struggle being an adult diagnosed with a complex mental health condition. I have struggled for the last 4 years to find anyone in a medical professional capacity who will listen and take me seriously. I have felt hopeless, psychotic, suicidal, alone even in a crowded room. And I have needed support, nurturing, advice, love and patience (something my wife does perfectly, if only it could be extended to professionals, the mental health services in Manchester would be a lot more compassionate and richer)

My life isn’t dismal, it isn’t over but it is an everyday challenge. A struggle to wake up, a struggle to sleep, a struggle to function and be someone who is productive, I manage different degrees of functioning dependant on my manic phases and my lows. You always get my all or nothing.

I will probably never be able to say “I am no longer a self harmer” and I think I have made my peace with that. But what I can say about my life and body is that the people who have helped me create my incredible collection of tattoos are more than artists, more than tattooists and more than friends. Without even realising they allow me to release, they have often counselled me through my hardest times, solidified my engagement plans, they speak with openness about their life and mine, they develop a relationship through providing a coping mechanism and they offer me something the NHS can’t, something no psychologist can.

They offer me hope and for that I will always be thankful.