Today we reach an issue that is going to take some painful recollections to write. I am mortally ashamed at this chapter in my life and have yet to reconcile my actions with the logical part of my brain.
The first time I hurt myself was in 1977. I had 5 children, one of whom was 18 months old, and my husband was overseas in the Navy. I was still suffering from clinical depression after having a tough bout with Post-Partum Depression when my son had been born in 1975.
On this particular day, I was energetically berating myself for all of my perceived weaknesses. I felt like a lousy mother: the house was all torn up; there was not enough money for food; and I didn't know how I was going to buy the children shoes. I felt worthless as a mother and I hated myself. I felt that I was an evil person who needed to be punished for being so bad. Punished; that was the answer. If I could be punished for my sins then God would forgive me.
I was not thinking about killing myself; I did not want to die, just feel better. The pain was so great and I became fixated on one thought: If I could feel "real" pain then I would get what I deserved and maybe God would forgive me for being so bad; for treating His little children so badly. I forgot about the time of day; the children were in school and the baby was asleep.
I went to the kitchen and got a "chicken-turning" fork out of one of the drawers, then I went into my bedroom and began to think how wonderful it would feel if I just hurt myself a little bit. Somehow my gut was telling me that there was a connection between physical pain and emotional pain. I had this overwhelming thought that it would feel good to hurt myself a little. I raised the fork above my head and stabbed myself on the forearms and thighs. I couldn't stop once I started.
Suddenly, I heard a child screaming in the distance, then one of my neighbors came running. She grabbed the fork out of my hand and immediately called my Bishop for help in what to do (there was no 911 then). The police and ambulance arrived and I was headed for my first psychiatric hospital admission.
One of my sons had come home from Kindergarten and found me and couldn't get my attention. He ran for my sister-friend next door and she comforted him and got help for me.
My mind had shut down, but in my heart I felt wonderful and pain-free for the first time in months. I didn't realize then what I had done to my poor son but when I learned how badly I had hurt and frightened him, I was devastated. I am still apologizing to him to this day.
Anyway, self-mutilation was never about suicide for me, it was done in a frantic attempt to stem the tide of pain and guilt that was racking my soul. I now have met hundreds of other people, in-hospital and out, who have resorted to self-mutilation to be able to survive their mind's constant barragement of believed evilness and worthlessness. Sometimes it seemed the only way to be able to survive without committing suicide.
When hurting myself I felt calm and happy; I had punished the evil one that was me and now God would forgive me my sins. These feelings and emotions reinforced the thoughts that punishing yourself would save you from sin.
Because of my family and the growth I made in mental hospitals, I now have a solid sense of self-worth and self-love. I no longer would even consider hurting myself and have not for over 20 years. But every once in a while a thought will flit across my mind that hurting makes you feel good. I promptly squash such thoughts with the hammer of logic.
God bless anyone who is having these thoughts about your inherent evilness and need to be punished. You are a child of God and He loves you just the way you are right now. He works through love, not punishment.
Tomorrow we will discuss the subject of suicide.
The first time I hurt myself was in 1977. I had 5 children, one of whom was 18 months old, and my husband was overseas in the Navy. I was still suffering from clinical depression after having a tough bout with Post-Partum Depression when my son had been born in 1975.
On this particular day, I was energetically berating myself for all of my perceived weaknesses. I felt like a lousy mother: the house was all torn up; there was not enough money for food; and I didn't know how I was going to buy the children shoes. I felt worthless as a mother and I hated myself. I felt that I was an evil person who needed to be punished for being so bad. Punished; that was the answer. If I could be punished for my sins then God would forgive me.
I was not thinking about killing myself; I did not want to die, just feel better. The pain was so great and I became fixated on one thought: If I could feel "real" pain then I would get what I deserved and maybe God would forgive me for being so bad; for treating His little children so badly. I forgot about the time of day; the children were in school and the baby was asleep.
I went to the kitchen and got a "chicken-turning" fork out of one of the drawers, then I went into my bedroom and began to think how wonderful it would feel if I just hurt myself a little bit. Somehow my gut was telling me that there was a connection between physical pain and emotional pain. I had this overwhelming thought that it would feel good to hurt myself a little. I raised the fork above my head and stabbed myself on the forearms and thighs. I couldn't stop once I started.
Suddenly, I heard a child screaming in the distance, then one of my neighbors came running. She grabbed the fork out of my hand and immediately called my Bishop for help in what to do (there was no 911 then). The police and ambulance arrived and I was headed for my first psychiatric hospital admission.
One of my sons had come home from Kindergarten and found me and couldn't get my attention. He ran for my sister-friend next door and she comforted him and got help for me.
My mind had shut down, but in my heart I felt wonderful and pain-free for the first time in months. I didn't realize then what I had done to my poor son but when I learned how badly I had hurt and frightened him, I was devastated. I am still apologizing to him to this day.
Anyway, self-mutilation was never about suicide for me, it was done in a frantic attempt to stem the tide of pain and guilt that was racking my soul. I now have met hundreds of other people, in-hospital and out, who have resorted to self-mutilation to be able to survive their mind's constant barragement of believed evilness and worthlessness. Sometimes it seemed the only way to be able to survive without committing suicide.
When hurting myself I felt calm and happy; I had punished the evil one that was me and now God would forgive me my sins. These feelings and emotions reinforced the thoughts that punishing yourself would save you from sin.
Because of my family and the growth I made in mental hospitals, I now have a solid sense of self-worth and self-love. I no longer would even consider hurting myself and have not for over 20 years. But every once in a while a thought will flit across my mind that hurting makes you feel good. I promptly squash such thoughts with the hammer of logic.
God bless anyone who is having these thoughts about your inherent evilness and need to be punished. You are a child of God and He loves you just the way you are right now. He works through love, not punishment.
Tomorrow we will discuss the subject of suicide.
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