Can Self-Injury Be Instinctive?
By: Witchy
Tags: Alcohol, Depression, Self Harm, Mental Health, Cutting

CW: discussions and themes of self-harm.

“At least my scars are on the inside of my body!”

It was exactly what I knew my brother would say. This was just another one of our dances; the abashed, block & parry of a conversation too deep or bleak to bear without a dose of humor.

It was our script. What we always went back to. I would vent about whatever self-shame spiral I was in that’d led to cutting and he would say exactly that: At least my scars are on the inside of my body!

I rolled my eyes, the thunk of my head grating against the passenger side window.

“At least my skin grows back. When your liver fails because of cirrhosis, me and my zebra skin will be fine.”

“Good point.”

My brother is one of the few family members who’s comfortable making cutting jokes in my presence. To be honest, it helps a lot.

A lot of us (as a collective) look to humor in an effort to mitigate whatever emotional burden is most pressing, and as I’ve tried for years to normalize or communicate (or at the very least explain) the presence of cutting within my family, he’s one of my best supporters in that he’s not afraid to make light of it.

Truth be told, I think part of it is for his own benefit — he on his own feels more comfortable speaking of things in such ways… but as it also happens to benefit me, all is well.

However, the epicenter of our conversations always leads to this particular question: why is it so “bad” to cut or burn and present with visible, physical injuries, but when a friend or family member drinks themselves to sleep every night, it often goes unnoticed?

Furthermore, if certain people have a predisposition or are already predisposed to self-destructive behaviors, what makes them choose their vice?

“I was always fascinated with alcohol,” my brother said when I asked him. “When I was of age, I saw the different kinds of drinks they would have at bars and restaurants, and I wanted to try them.”

Then came my response. “I came across cutting in middle school. I knew the self-proclaimed “emo” kids did it but I didn’t really get why, nor did I care. In early high school I tried it, but it hurt too much so I stopped. By twelfth grade, it was all I could think of, the only thing I could do to make the world stop for one second. It wasn’t even a choice. In my mind, it was the only way.”

Make no mistake. I am not advocating for any of these things. I do not advocate, encourage, or proclaim the benefits of any destructive compulsion, but I do reject the stigma associated with them, and the shame compounded by that association.

I have friends who are ex-cutters, former users, and others who are everything in between. But when I ask why they chose to do what they did, the answers all seemed instinctual, like the clues and subliminal messages we’d picked up as children were all processed in individual ways and then later on synthesized to form one definite answer, as if their chosen behavior or compulsion was the obvious one.

For example, alcoholism runs in my family. In all of my years of depression and anxiety however, I’ve never felt the need to turn to any form of substance in an effort to satisfy my psychic pain. I subconsciously knew it wouldn’t quell my problems — albeit a temporary relief — but I did know something physical would.

Meanwhile, other members of my family are the opposite. They cannot fathom inflicting acute, physical harm upon their bodies, yet they are quick to reach for something orally digestible.

And despite the fact that all of us behave in very, very similar ways, I am the one who feels the need to protect the eyes of the children of the family (whether it is our youngest siblings or my nieces and nephews) from the exposure of my wounds.

While my brothers, sisters, aunts, and uncles can rearrange their liquor cabinet to perfection so that each bottle is neat and shiny, I keep a steady supply of bandages and medical tape so I can mask my “boo-boos” (as my niece puts it, since I do not discuss this with her yet) and keep everyone as comfortable as possible should my clothing not cover it all.

No one forces me to do this — I choose to keep myself bandaged in their presence because with cutting often comes humiliation. Any cutter or person who has cut would sympathize.

But it does beckon the question: why? And I know the answer is almost impossibly complex and nuanced and touches on more social issues than mental health alone, but it’s bizarre to walk around like I do, being aware of every shift of my shorts or shirt for fear of them riding too high or exposing too much of my arms.

If I was Superwoman and had X-ray vision, I would be able to see every twist and scar inside of a person which shows me they have substance abuse issues.

Fun fact: Indigenous cultures around the world use scarification “to emphasize the permanency of social and political roles; ritual and cultural values; rites of passage and age-grades; eroticizing the body; promoting sexual attraction and enhancing sexual pleasure; group and cultural identity; spiritual relationships; and aesthetic values.”

In recent years, it’s been out-lawed or banned by a ton of local governments because it’s seen as too dangerous a practice. (Which is it’s own issue.)

But then we have the lesson of cutting in my fundamentalist Baptist school, which was only brought up once when I was a child and in a singular context. It was, of course, in reference to Baal and how the ancient Canaanites would offer sacrifices to Baal or other deities in their pantheon that included children, unholy prostitution, and blood from self-inflicted harm.

That particular lesson was always half-assed and skipped over because it was less about cutting than it was about how evil these tribes were and how God the Father was completely justified in wiping them out.

Yet, a quick Google search shows dozens of verses about the evils of being a “drunkard” or glutton or in essence, just drinking too much. Literally dozens of verses. In Song of Solomon, sex is often compared to wine because of how powerful and alluring it was considered. I mean, in SoS everything is alluring but you get it.

So… if we’re going the Christian way, why is cutting seen as more problematic? Especially when you consider the many atrocities done to other people in the Bible while under the influence? Has everyone just forgotten what Lot’s daughters did to him after he passed out drinking? No? Just me? Gross.

Of course, we’re not going the Christian way. Not really. I only bring it up for historical context and frankly, because that was where I’d first heard of it. And since my church and school helped consolidate my first chosen identity…

But if I have no understanding and no concrete answer as to why I will have to explain to the children in my life one day what the marks and scars on my skin are, it seems fair I ask why it is that children will be able to understand the concept of binge drinking by the time they hit middle school.

I intend to have these discussions with them one day regardless. I think, in order to break the cyclical nature of shame which surrounds the concept of self-harm, conversations like this need to be had. Children are much smarter and much more resilient than adults give them credit for.

One day, when they ask, I will need to tell them why their auntie did what she did, and I am so goddamn grateful I will have an older brother to be there and corroborate that auntie is indeed, okay.