Notes From A Tricky Brain

CW: References to self-harm and related behaviours. Please only proceed if you are comfortable with the subject matter.

I was going to be cheesy and say “music is one of the things that gets me through tough times…” but that’s not actually true. It’s something that is as intrinsic a part of my day as having a shower, or brushing my teeth. I listen to music all the time, whether passively as I study or walk the dog, or more attentively when I’m watching live music on YouTube. I was born too late for a lot of the music I love, Fleetwood Mac and REM being two of my favourites. But I also keep up with more current bands and artists, like Cold War Kids, Kings of Leon and Noah Kahan. I could ramble like this all day, but it’s absolutely not the point of this post.

From the day and hour that I felt my mental health start to slide (so most of my adult life) I’ve self-harmed, initially as a coping mechanism, but also to convey how I was feeling when I didn’t have the words. What do we call self-harm, generally speaking? A symptom, a behaviour, a habit…? I’m not really sure, but for me it became an addiction. It became more and more extreme, there was nothing I wouldn’t do to myself and I ended up requiring hospital treatment, or admission, countless times (I really did earn those frequent flier points – which isn’t my proudest achievement). It didn’t matter how close to the edge I got, I’d always go back for more, pushing and pushing my body to see how much it could take. As you can imagine, I now have extensive scarring on both arms and, although I’m used to it, I always cover up if I’m outside, mostly for the sake of other people.

Above are lyrics from a track called “Remind me to Forget” by Kygo and Miguel. I love the song and, despite taking them completely out of context, I love these lyrics. Perhaps in contrast to how others feel when they engage in self-harm related behaviours and then have to look at the result on a multiple-times-per-day basis, my scars don’t trigger me. They remind me. Remind me that I’ve been through something extremely traumatic, that I’m battle-worn…but that I’ve survived. They are my war wounds, they are testament to the fierce determination I have to stay alive, my tenacity, my desire to keep going.

It’s a constant work in progress, one that is very much present in my everyday life, but I have other things to turn to before I self-harm now. I’m better at self-soothing, self-regulating…or asking people to help me regulate. I also have lots of things that take up my time now. I don’t always have time to ruminate and think about how I want to punish myself, make myself pay for some unknown crime. So, yes, I have scars but, no, I’m not ashamed of them. The many, many lines on my arms map out my journey, remind me of what I’ve come through…and remind me that I must only look forward now, remind me to forget. I don’t have time, I’m too busy to come off the beaten track and add tributary roads to my journey.