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Feeling Happy!
Written by Chloe on Saturday, May 15, 2010
Why the exclamation mark in the title? Well, happiness feels weird. It doesn’t feel like a normal state of being. It takes some getting used to.
Sean unwittingly inspired me to write about this. He wrote me an e-mail referring to what was in my mind two years ago: "The one thing I’d love to ask the you of that time is what she’d think of where you’re at now. I’m pretty sure you’d NEVER have imagined your life as it is now, then :)" Absolutely correct, Sean! I started thinking about what would be the most surprising of all the changes. It is that I now feel happy. How on earth did this happen?
One thing is for sure; it had not happened a year ago. I’ve been looking at "Third Hike", an honest and vulnerable exposition of my state of mind in May 2009. It is a quite shocking read for me. I’m glad that Sean has encouraged me to write down my feelings, because it can be startling to see just how much one can change when one is ready for it.
I started reading through that post to see what I would address, and I got to the fourth paragraph. Shit… Shit! Suddenly the dots become connected. How could I have missed this? Here’s what I wrote "My bare arms are getting pretty scratched up from the tough bushwhack; little trickles of blood starting. I look at the blood… I like the blood. I like bleeding… I look beyond the blood, at the barely visible scars from all those previous hikes. I like the scars." Sitting here in my wheelchair, writing this, I lift up my skirt and look at my right knee. There’s that scar from hiking last year. I lift my skirt up higher to see that ancient scar on my right thigh, so clean and straight. You can still see where the edges separated. Those scars are the same, Chloe. Do you get it now? I take my glasses off and bring my left forearm close. It’s all very subtle. I don’t think anyone would notice. But look closely and there it is; a myriad patchwork of scars, all from hiking.
I think of what my friend said to me a decade ago "You are completely honest with everybody, except for yourself". Yes Chloe, you have to admit it now. You’ve been lying. Admit it… I am a cutter.
I was given a clue a few months ago. A friend and I were getting naked on the couch. It was our first time to see each other naked. The scars on his inner thigh were pretty dramatic. "Wow!" I said, "What are those scars?" I didn’t give him time to reply; the cogs had turned rapidly in my brain: "Oh! Okay, I understand. I get it." The next part of the monologue I kept to myself: "What do you mean you understand? How could you possibly understand? You’re not a cutter." Liar! Anyway, we had a good conversation about his self-cutting.
My scars are not like his. I guess I’m what they call a delicate self-cutter; though a lying one to boot. Oh, how very convenient, Chloe! Plausible deniability. It was an accident! It sounds like skiing off cliffs, doesn’t it? "Oh yes, I became paraplegic from a skiing accident." What a lie! If it had happened that way it would have been very deliberate. Bushwhacking and rock scrambling are deliberate too.
No, I’m not comparing BIID with self-cutting. I think they are entirely different. Here’s a question though: I stopped skiing off cliffs a year ago; but have I stopped self-cutting? As it happens I very recently went hiking for the third time this year, and I cut my right hand while clambering up some rocks; slightly technical stuff: three point climbing. This can happen to anybody. It’s not what happens that makes it self-cutting (therein lies the plausible deniability); it’s how you feel about it.
Every Sunday Alicia and I spend several hours together talking about our psychological state during the week. One of the topics I brought up was my use of hiking as an excuse for self-cutting. She said "Duh; it was completely obvious to me soon after we got together that you were deliberately self-cutting on your hikes. You always come home covered with cuts and blood." She pointed out my idiosyncratic behaviour of wearing knee socks with shorts while hiking, so that it is specifically my thighs that are susceptible to getting cut up. If I actually intended to bushwhack without getting cut up I’d just wear long pants. Hmm; okay, she has a point. She said there was never plausible deniability as far as she was concerned. She said that she had brought it up with me and that I was in complete denial about it. Hmm…
I’m claiming that I’m happy. (Or is it possible that you’re lying to yourself about that too, Chloe?) It is entirely reasonable that I have been a self-cutter. It is associated with depression, anxiety, emotional abuse, low self-esteem and perfectionism (among other things). Since I’m happy now, my problems with these things should be vaporising. Thus so also should be the self-cutting. I don’t know… I don’t know the answer yet.
Also from the fourth paragraph: "I look at the blood, remembering the words of my partner last night ‘You punish yourself because you’re not good enough’." I am much reminded of the personal growth workshop described in "Letting Go". In the first psychological exercise we were asked to share our self-limiting beliefs with the group. My hand immediately shot up. "I’m not good enough", I said.
I am also reminded of what that psychotherapist said to me at the workshop: "You think that you deserve to be in pain and to be punished." Well, I have let go of that too. No! I DESERVE TO BE HAPPY.
I pulled out my copy of "The Handless Maiden". I had vaguely remembered something that the delicately self-cutting protagonist had said towards the end of the story; something about being good enough. Ah yes, there it is. She changed. I changed. Alicia comes into the room as I am on the couch with the book. "What are you reading?" Silently I raise the book so that she can see the cover. She nods silently and sits down next to me. She knows a good deal of what the book is about, but she doesn’t want to read it herself. Childhood sexual abuse hits too close. Alicia sits down next to me because she can see in my eyes that I have something to say. I start to speak, my voice cracking. No I can’t do it this way. We hug closely so that I can smell her neck. I start crying. Now I can do it. "I know that I’m not perfect for you. But I know that I am good enough for you." It is the first time I have told her this. How many times have I told her that I’m not good enough? Have I ever told anybody that I AM good enough… at anything? Is this the first time? "It’s the imperfections that make you perfect", she whispers softly in my ear. "I know", I reply. Finally I get it. I am good enough for me. I see in myself that which I see in everybody else. There’s no stopping the tears now. Alicia says "I’m the one who isn’t good enough for you". No need for me to say anything; I let her go on. "I didn’t care if I lived." I pull back a little to look her in the eyes, and nod silently. She knows that I knew. It was two days ago. "I’m full of tortured pain." Finally I softly reply " I know… I love you." My lips find the biggest glob of tears on her cheek. I gently suck them in, savoring the taste, and swallow…
Oh, so many things from that third hike last year have changed. I no longer curse at myself, or hate myself, or call myself a sissy, or a stupid bitch, or any other derogatory term, or have anger at my parents, or blame them for anything, or have anger at myself, or blame myself for anything, or think about getting struck by lightning, or crashing my car, or feel defective, or feel like a failure, or feel like I’m messed up.
So how did all this change? Six weeks after that Third Hike post I started wheeling full time at work. It was a surprise. I had definitely not expected to be wheeling at work in 2009. It just happened, without me seeing it coming. Sean saw it coming though. Sometimes I think he knows me better than I know myself. Thank you for all your encouragement, Sean!
The ramifications of using a wheelchair went far beyond what I could have imagined. To be sure, it is a wonderful treatment for my BIID, and I am happier for it. What wasn’t obvious was how much it would free up my mind to work on my other issues. So many people helped me. So many of you have helped me. I’m not going to make a list because I would surely forget someone, and that would make me feel bad. I expect you all know who you are. Your collective wisdom that you have shared has really made a difference. Thank you.
Then, most recently, there was that personal growth workshop. Wow! "Did you know?", The Oracle was asked at the end of part 3 of "The Matrix". "No, but I believed." I picked up my copy of "The Handless Maiden" again and read some more, sobbing all the while… I understood why I went into that workshop with such massive motivation to make it work.
How do I know that I’m happy? Well, I can’t know relative to anybody else. It’s just relative to me. I wake up smiling every day. I feel more at peace than at any previous time in my life. It’s a bit odd because there are things in my life that should be causing stress; my financial situation, for example.
The worst thing that could possibly happen to me? That would be Alicia dying. We have both given each other cause for concern. No Chloe, you wouldn’t survive that, would you? Happiness is conditional.
The symptoms of depression are gone. What is this magic trick? One may reasonably ask why I’m not cutting back on Prozac. I had a bad experience with that late last summer, and my GP suggested that there is no reason to try that again even if I’m feeling fine. I put it by Alicia too. She agreed. I don’t want to find out how bad things might be if I cut down on Prozac. I have a long history of emotional fragility. Just because I’m not depressed doesn’t mean that I’m not fragile.
I had concern about the downsides of happiness. "Downsides of happiness"! What are you talking about, Chloe? Well, my feelings of empathy are very important to me; and lot of empathy derives from personal experience. I would rather be unhappy than lose empathy. How could I really be happy if I lost that deep connection with others? Fortunately, it’s not happening. My intense connectivity with the emotional state of others remains intact.
What happened to the BIID? Oh, it’s still there; untouched. It’s just a lot easier to deal with when there’s not all that other junk whirling around in my head. Besides… it’s not a question of wanting, needing, seeking, expecting paraplegia. I believe… it will happen.
How long does happiness last? Ha ha! How should I know? I don’t have a clue. It matters only that today I feel happy.
Tags: BIID, Blood, Depression, Empathy, Happy, Lies, Prozac, Scars, Sean, Self-Cutting, Wheelchair
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6 Comments
Hi Rhayven,
Sometimes people are hurting so much inside that I am at a loss for words. I would like to sit next to you; hold your hand; put my arms around you.
I would gently tell you that you are not a bad person; that you are a valuable human being; that there are people who will unconditionally accept you as you are; that you deserve to be loved; that you deserve to love yourself.
~ Chloe
This morning I went to see Alicia as she was working on the computer. I said “I have a psychological question.” She turned around, said “You’re covered in cuts!”, and started laughing. We usually know what the other wants to talk about.
I’ll back up. I went hiking yesterday. As you might guess, there was some bushwhacking: traversing on a steep slope above a creek through maple forest with a dense underbrush of scrub oak. It seemed like the only way to make progress further up the canyon, but it was very tough going. After almost an hour of this, and several unsuccessful attempts to get back down to the canyon bottom, I sat with my feet against a maple so that I wouldn’t slide down. The sitting position brought my thighs close to my face so that I could not help but contemplate all the cuts. The biggest one, on my right thigh, was six inches long.
“What do I think of this?”, I asked myself, remembering what I had written on this post. I had wondered if this plausibly deniable self-cutting was associated with depression. Well, there’s my answer. No, it isn’t. I happily continue to cut myself while bushwhacking.
I had also remarked that it’s not what you do but how you feel about it that makes it self-cutting. Well, my feelings were just the same as always. I’m pleased with all those intermingled cuts and scars. So no, this doesn’t neatly fit into the category of necessary collateral damage in order to reach the goal of my target peak.
After sitting for a while and contemplating my options, I decided to make a last determined effort to reach the canyon bottom again. This involved a descending traverse on progressively steeper terrain through progressively denser vegetation, while still heading up the canyon. The terrain got steep enough that I was mostly lowering myself down by grabbing onto tree branches with my arms. This is extremely bad for my fibromyalgia. It was especially bad because I had triggered an episode in my right shoulder by falling out of my wheelchair two days earlier. I’ve already posted the details of that little adventure today on http://ahiruzone.com in the “I fell out of my chair today” discussion.
The final part back down to the creek was vertical and slippery. Fortunately there was a snow bank beneath me so the forced jump wasn’t so bad. It was a calculated risk. It wasn’t obvious if the snow bank overlay solid ground or the creek. It held.
I thought about the difference between the pain in my shoulder and the cuts on my arms and legs. Why do I hate one, yet like the other? Does it have anything to do with visibility? No, I’m wearing a long sleeved sweater to work today specifically to minimise the visibility. Like most self-cutters I don’t like other people seeing my cuts.
The rest of the hike to the peak was relatively easy. The canyon bottom had widened out, so that I was walking on snow in a mixed aspen/white fir forest. Four and a half hours from car to peak.
After I got home and took off my long socks I realised that my lower legs were also covered in cuts and bruises despite the protection. I started counting the obvious cuts on my left arm, wondering how many I had acquired on the hike. I stopped at a dozen. There were clearly more on my legs than my arms, so the answer is simply “many”.
This morning Alicia compared enjoying my cuts to enjoying a steak. They are both satisfying and harmless if done in moderation. She has tattoos. She thought her feeling on getting a tattoo was analogous to my feeling on getting cut. We agreed that I would simply accept my cuts without passing self-judgement, without interpreting anything negative about them, without trying to find an explanation. In this particular regard my BIID is like my cutting. I don’t need to know why. It just is. It is neither right nor wrong, good nor bad. Accept it and let it be.
One of the several functions of this website for me is as a confessional. I am committed to being honest about what I am doing or thinking, whether I like it or not. It’s okay; I’m not expecting absolution.
Yesterday I had a thought, which I didn’t like, while driving home in a big thunderstorm with lightning all around. It spontaneously came into my mind how nice it would be to die by being struck by lightning. I started wondering how much it would improve my chances by being in a wheelchair with a leg brace. Then I caught the thought, and was annoyed with myself for having a suicidal ideation fantasy.
I’ve been claiming that I don’t feel depressed any more; that I’ve moved away from having thoughts of suicide. I specifically said “I no longer — think about getting struck by lightning.” But there came the thought, suddenly, out of nowhere. Perhaps it’s a tough habit to break, even if one is not depressed. After all, there have been many years of my life when suicidal ideation has been a daily occurrence; just the normal state of being. I think that some of you can relate to this. Perhaps the lightning was a specific trigger. The closest I’ve come to an actual attempt was standing on a mountain top, six years ago, amidst the relentless lightning strikes. Perhaps I have an automatic association between lightning and the wish to…
There; that is my confession. I’m not going to overthink this. I’ll just let it go and move on.
6 On 23 May, 2010, Sophie said:
Habits and coping strategies are often so hard to break. You saw my twitter posts Chloe, I spent half of Saturday in tears thinking about how pathetic my lack of life was after hearing those comments and it’s a fairly typical reaction from me regardless if it was said in jest.
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1 On 15 May, 2010, Rhayven said:
Its funny. Its 5am again and I’m still awake.
You know a lot of what you’ve said is relevant to me. I dont think I’m good enough. I think I’m a pussy. I’m afraid of taking chances. I’m shy. I’m a self-cutter. I dont think I deserve love or happiness. And I dont have many people there for me.
Currently my fanincial stability is non-existant. The only thing keeping me off the streets is my grandparents generosity and because of pre-existing conditions of mental instability and the fact that my grandfather is the biggest ass in existence - that may not be true for long …
He keeps speaking of how my grandmother might not make it. How it doesn’t matter that the dog tore up the couch, she wont be using it much longer anyways, or how she wont have to come home to a messy house as she probably wont be coming home at all.
…My granny is slowly dieing and by him saying that, he is slowly killing me as well.
You see - the only thing thats honestly been keeping me alive is knowing that if I kill myself, it’d kill my granny. I may argue with her - but I love her.
My brother has been getting on me about why I havent called her - but honestly I’m scared shitless to call her. I dont want to even sense a hint of weakness in her. Even though she may have pneumonia - I dont want to hear it! Its hard enough to forget shes in there with everyone keeping saying that “Oh, I’m going to the hospital” Dont they understand what theyre doing?
Your a delicate cutter? I cut pretty heavily. It all really depends though. Sometimes it’ll be light scratches, other times its pretty heavy gashes. It depends on my mood really…
You already know but I can relate to Alicia … Theres someone that I’d literally die if she died. And that makes it even harder because she has a weak immune system, is known for suicidal attempts and depression and shit like that … If she died I’d know … We have a really strong connection.
And you know - happiness is strange. How is one to determine whether they deserve it? How do we measure how much its worth? Is it worth so much to hurt others - brutally torture their mind, their well being, just to cause yourself joy?
See - thats what bullies dont think of. “How is this going to affect him/her down the road”
…And the thing is - the person who bullied me the most - Derrek Bishop - He was hear a few months ago. And he actually apologized. I’m not really sure how to take it all in all. I mean … Do I accept it even though the great and utter irreversible pain he caused me, or do I continue to hold a grudge? Its difficult to accept that he might be sorry … Honestly he thought of his well being - he asked me several times during class ever odd day if I’d ever bring a gun or a knife to school and start killing people.
You know - friendship is another thing. It can bring happiness, joy, and chaos. Backstabbers, BFFs, shit like that … Everything interlaced into one person. The thing is - you never know when that invisible contract will go null and void. You never know who is just trying to get close to screw you over later. I dont trust people. Its as simple as that - but even so its easy to earn my trust … The only thing is - so many people take advantage of that.
And love … ~Sighs~ The only thing love has ever brought me is pain. Rachelle was the biggest example of that …
And then there was Aprille, or rather Raven as shes now called. I’d still rip my heart out of that girl if she’d take me back .. After all, a vampires love is forever …
Isn’t it funny how some emotions that one would never honestly consider thinking of are a day to day occurrence for others? I Honestly wonder how some people can be so happy ever freaking day. That can be completely content with their looks, their life, just … everything. How they dont honestly mind what others say and can’t hate a soul.
See - I’m the exact opposite of that Chloe .. I hate myself. I hate a lot of people. There are people I honestly think I could kill and not think twice about it. I’m suicidal every day. I’m rarely ever happy, 9/10 being depressed is just the norm. I have cuts laced around my arms from my wrist to my shoulder. Hell - I have one on my hand from where I pierced it through one side and out the other with a safety pin. I tried ripping it out afterward, but it wouldnt rip because their was too much skin.
I have cuts across my chest, stomach and thigh. I even have a pentacle cut into my forehead, though the scar isn’t noticeable …
And you know - so many people tell me I’m a bad person. That I’m going to hell. That I should be ashamed of myself. People have their children look away when I walk by. People, random people I dont even know, will walk up to me and ask me if I’m a cutter - as if thats an appropriate question for someone you dont even know! My general answer is non of your damn business.
Its gotten to where I dont even go out anymore, aside for groceries and the occasional restaurant visit. I dont mind going to China wall … Usually the people their are fairly sophisticated and too busy stuffing their faces to say anything. And you rarely ever see little kids there. Thats why I get so pissed going into places like KFC for example. Theres no where to sit to where you can see the entire restaraunt =/ And that makes me paranoid. And not only that - but theres always a little brat or some ingrateful adult their -_- Its like a breeding ground for ignorance =/
I honestly wish I could go to that workshop, or something similar. I wish I knew that when I wake up tomorrow, or next week, or next month, there wont be a for sale sign in front of my house. And even so - if there is - I wish I knew where I’d go. none of my friends are either willing are able to take me in.
Dustin is the only one that’d be willing TBH and his financial situation wont allow for it so .. Not only that, but I dont know if I could stand the days his mom and brother come over, and I’m not too fond of his grandmother so … That said - shes probably not too fond of me XD
Y’know though Chloe, I’m glad your happy for once. You may not think it - but you DO deserve happiness …
Its a fruit not many are able to pick …