Guest Article: My Story of Self-harm, Self-hatred, and finally Self-acceptance

I am very proud to post this incredible guest article by a dear friend, Katie Cook. This brave and honest account of self-harm can provide incredible solace to those suffering with self-harm, and invaluable insight to those who don’t.

My Story of Self-harm, Self-hatred, and finally Self-acceptance, by Katie Cook

My foray into using self-harm as a way to cope with my anxiety and depression started around age 11.  The memories of lying in my bed crying and snapping a rubber band on my wrist until I broke the skin are still clear in my mind today. That was how it started.  When it was no longer enough to make me feel better I moved on to other methods. I often would stand looking in the mirror and punch my stomach and any other body parts I hated until I was black and blue.  The cuts and bruises were my little secret that not even those closest to me were allowed in on.  I took a weird sense of pleasure from the marks and even the pain.  It was what I deserved.  My hatred for myself was deep enough for me to actually believe that.   It was about 8 years later when things progressed to a level where the harm I was inflicting on myself went from being superficial marks that would fade with time to serious wounds that would scar and stay with me for the rest of my life.

I wont go into the things that happened in my life as a child or an adult that with retrospect I can see led me down this long journey of depression and self harming behaviors.  I would need to write a book and not an article to cover all that.  What I will say though, is I can confidently say 99% of people who knew me then and most who know me today would have no clue I self harmed or even struggled with depression.  My healthy self, which I have come to learn, is my true self, is very cheerful, positive, funny, energetic, empathetic and strong.  That is the “Katie” I worked hard to portray to the World.  Even at my sickest I kept sad, hopeless, and scared “Katie” who hurt herself under lock and key.  That worked for me for many years until my behavior got so extreme and my depression so deep keeping up the façade became impossible.

It all came to a head my second year of University. I had a dorm room to myself, which was perfect for me to hide in and dwell on my dark thoughts.   That is when the violent daydreams started occupying my brain on a regular basis.  I would close my eyes and be bombarded with images of horrible things happening to me.  I stopped eating anything but a bowl of fruit once a day and if I did eat anything else I would throw it up.  My weight, which had always been a huge part of my self-hatred, was finally at a number I liked.  That should have made me happy.  It did not.

I had gone to see a doctor and revealed my secret a year before when some cuts on my arm got infected.  I had made several deep cuts that should have probably been stitched.  I attempted to hold the skin together with duct tape.  Needless to say that was not successful.  The doctor gave me a tetanus shot, Prozac, and told me to stop.  The medication did nothing but make me feel like a zombie and numb to the pain I was inflicting on myself.  The internal pain on the other hand was as awful and strong as it had ever been.

The night my life exploded and my secret was finally exposed I did not really decide to try to kill myself.  My thoughts were nowhere near clear enough to make a decision like that.  I just could not inflict enough harm on the outside of my body to cope with the pain on the inside.  I took a handful of anti-anxiety pills, broke a framed picture on my dresser, and used the glass to cut my left arm until there wasn’t an inch of skin on the inside of my forearm left unbroken.  I am not sure how long later it was but a friend of mine was worried about me not answering the phone and sent the RA at my dorm to unlock the door and check on me.  Apparently she found me on the floor and called the ambulance.  I have no memory until arriving at the hospital.

That was my rock bottom and really the beginning of my journey to recovery.  After a forced hospital stay where I was locked into a ward and not allowed to leave I realized that unless I truly decided to die, I would need to work hard to start living again.  It was the hardest thing I have every done.  I had been barely skating by in school that semester and had to go to each teacher and tell them about my illness and ask to retake their course.  It was humiliating. I doubled down on my class load and still had to go to school all summer.  I had class from 8am to 2pm then worked 3pm to 10pm almost every day.  I owed thousands of dollars for my stint in the hospital and had to figure out how to pay it.

I look back at that time of my life and still don’t know how I did it.  I was still very depressed and sick, but I met a fellow patient while in the hospital that said something to me that resonated and I would remember his words when I felt like giving up.  He was at the end of his life in his 80’s and had just lost his wife, which had led him to try and commit suicide and join her.   He took a seat beside me one day and said, “I don’t know you or your story, but I am sitting here looking at you and all I can think is how lucky you are to be in the beginning of your life and not the end.” He went on, “It may not feel this way now but you have control of your future.  No one has more influence on what your life will look like then you do.  You do not have to go down this path.  You can have a good life, you just have to decide you want it and deserve it.”  I am not sure why his words stuck with me so strongly, but it was the first time I realized I had control.  Up to that point I felt like everything was out of my hands. I felt as if the demons in my head were in control and I was just along for the ride.  It was that realization of control of my future that strengthened my resolve and made me determined to make my life into something worth living.

My first step was to set a goal.  Mine was to leave the toxic environment I lived in and move as far away as possible, as soon as possible.  I worked towards that goal with a dogged resolve.  It was because of that attitude that I actually was able to graduate on time despite having to retake some courses.  A week after graduation I packed my car with everything I owned worth keeping and drove to San Diego to start a new period of my life.  The demons in my head followed me there but I was able to deal with them better in my new environment.

I was not in San Diego long before I met my husband.  I met him just a week before I had some scar revisions done on my arm.  The cuts that had been infected never healed properly. The obviousness of the marks led to me having to deal with ignorant comments and remarks from people and despite trying to own my disease, which was a step in my recovery, I still lived in fear of judgment.   Luckily, my husband didn’t judge me or get freaked out by my past.  His acceptance and understanding took my recovery to a new level.  I committed to never cutting myself again, and 8 years later I have stuck to that promise.

It has not been an easy one to keep.  Learning to cope with stress and pain without cutting as an option has not been easy.  I feel as if it is an addiction akin to drugs and alcohol.  I still struggle with depression and anxiety.  When I feel particularly awful I still want to cut and have to fight that urge.  My mental illness is a life long disease that I will always have to battle.  There will be periods of remission, but always a chance of relapse.  It is a hard thing to realize and accept, but once you do, the battle seems more manageable.

I continually work to improve my illness and myself.  That journey has led me to today.  I am finally in a place where I no longer feel ashamed of my history of self-harming.  I am ready to let the secret I have been carrying around with me for so many years out of the bag.  I am ready to say publicly that I have a mental illness, one that led me to self-harm, despite being terrified of what people may think. Some might judge me harshly for it, but I hope that the people who know me will be impressed with my ability to overcome my illness rather then repelled by the fact I have it.   It is not easy to go through what I have, and even harder to come out the other side better, wiser and stronger.  I am finally in a place where I feel proud of myself rather then ashamed, and it feels good.

About Katie Cook

Katie was born and raised in a small town in Maine. She has recently become a proud Canadian citizen, living in Nova Scotia with her husband, Steve, and her dogs Bo and Bogart. Katie is a beloved friend to many, and is avid outdoorswoman who loves hiking and seeing the world’s beauty thought nature.

Emerald Russell

About Emerald Russell

I have lived with PTSD & Depression for approximately 15 years. In this time I have navigated many of the challenges faced by people who live with a mental illness: stigma, employment, financial challenges, traveling with a mental illness, trauma, relationships, family issues, and more.