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Stories, Poems & Articles |
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Quick Links to Poems |
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Ellen's Story Ellen Spencer, a 17-year-old Cumbrian, talks frankly and in her own words on why she has harmed herself. My name is Ellen Spencer. I am 17-years-old and I self-harm. I started four years ago as a way of expressing my frustration and anxiety and it rapidly became an almost addictive coping mechanism. When people ask me why I cut, I reply: "How long have you got?" They are many reasons why I cut - fear, frustration, anxiety, anger. It's a defence mechanism and a safety blanket - something that I can control. For long enough, no-one knew that I cut but then a teacher at school found out and before long I was involved with anti-depressants and counsellors which eventually graduated to a psychiatrist. But in all that time, I never met people like me - people who relied on this taboo subject. I heard about the Self Injury Support Service when they advertised on the radio for a book-keeper. I was surprised to hear about them as I'd never been told there was a support group in my area so I rang up and they put me in touch with Jill Eastham. The support group is a good idea and so far is helpful - it's good that I can go when I need to and also that I don't have to make up an excuse if I don't feel a 
ble to go sometimes. However, there is only so much one group can do -
after all I can't pick up the phone at 1 a.m. to call Jill if I feel
bad. I do get a lot of support from my mum and she is invaluable to me.
But not everyone has their mum to rely on. When I want to cut it can
almost be described as a craving. Then I cut and I get a massive
adrenaline rush that sometimes turns into nervous energy and other times
leaves me feeling very tired and drained. Every time I feel relief - the
pressure builds so much I feel like I'm going to burst and one moment
releases it.There is a downside though. I now have keloid scars which will be with me forever. A common thing that I come up against is being called an 'attention seeker' or a 'psycho'. It's like people expect me to hurt them - they don't realise that the only person I ever hurt when I'm down is myself. If I was attention seeking, I wouldn't hide my arms, even in summer, or use a camouflage cream. Maybe writing this article is attention seeking, but if people like me don't let the world know it's happening, it will stay in the dark and people won't get the help they need because they won't know the help is there. One thing that irritates me is the assumption that because I self-harm, I want to die - I self-harm to cope with LIFE, not death. There needs to be more support and information for people of ALL ages about self-harm, but not just for those who self-harm but for those who are trying to help their loved ones through this. Thanks to Cumbrian Newspapers Ltd for the use of their article and photo |
Living on Anorexic/Bulimic Row Counting, counting, every calorie, every footstep burning up the calorie, every second, minute, hour, until it is time for another calorie. When will the counting ever end? Cheating, lying ashamed but terrified of another extra calorie. Telling school friends I would eat at home, convincing parents I had eaten at school. Down to an apple and a cream cracker daily, a significant achievement! Paradoxically feeling stronger and more motivated as the weight falls off. But others start to notice, the doctors intervene; thus the start of my anorexic/bulimic and hospital career. Fighting everyone: they all want me FAT: hating everyone for their concern. Too soon the demon faces descend, to Section and admit me to hospital. Sedation, reward or punishment according to weight gain or refusal to eat: until force feeding is their last resort. My most horrific nightmare of being tube fed: pumped full of calories, fighting sleep in fear of waking up a fat monster. Then I crack the code: get on the conveyor belt, eat everything given, stop the secret exercising, accept the sedation, attain the required weight: reach discharge, and the freedom to begin the self defeating ecstasy of losing all the weight again. Time and time again the cycle repeats itself. But no one dared to ask where I had gone, who I am, what I wanted. After all, I don’t know who I am- I’m just an anorexic. Only contempt and judgement do the faces show. Then the bulimia set in. Living each day just to accumulate bags of food, saved for the evening, the end of the day’s starvation. Spread out in front of me, on plastic bags so as not to contaminate the carpet, the gorging begins. My stomach bulging, barely able to stand, I vomit sufficiently to devour the next bag. Initially the first bites are paradise, beautiful stodge, but the disgust, revulsion, panic and shame soon shrivel me to a miserable wretch. Gulping down the fluid, I vomit for hours, untill all that is left is bile, and a glorious, controlled feeling of absolute emptiness. Everything must be scrubbed clean, anything touched during the binge – bathroom, kitchen, door knobs, light switches. Binge clothes must be put to wash, my entire body scrubbed red raw, I fall onto my bed, the dizziness convincing me that I have vomited enough and fall into an exhausted sleep. At 4 stones I reach the literal “dead line”. Another Section, 6 months to live. Strictly family visits, 15 minutes only, for beyond that I am breathless with fatigue. I know this cannot be right, but still food equates with FAT not energy. Fair’s fair, they give me a chance to try to eat. But this time it’s gone too far. Falling into a hypoglycaemic coma, 15 minutes to death, prompts a move to the locked dungeon of the underground ward and immediate tube feeding. I scream out for the right to die, rather than lose all I have and face the living hell of the nasal-gastric tube. Faces close in on me. “irrational” they yell. My nightmare world goes on until I reach THEIR goal. Back on the open ward, some of the faces seem to smile a little, perhaps less afraid that I will die before their eyes. I begin to be taken for short walks, brief outings into the fearsome world “outside” which I have avoided for so long. What do I want? Where do I want to go? The voices tentatively ask.. Yet still beneath the façade the binging and purging goes violently on. I live for the addiction I so hate. Shifting to residential care, the faces are more kindly. I step out alone for the first time; but supported and treated as an equal. Moving to Carlisle and sheltered accommodation, my carers no longer smother or protect me. Sometimes it seems they just don’t care. It is frightening to have choices, freedom, but sometimes it feels good. Being referred to Jill and the SIS group played a major role in my new life. I began to realise that self injury did not only refer to my cutting, burning and overdosing. My eating was also injuring my body. Jill started to ask the painful questions – Why was I abusing my body so? We are slowly beginning to find out how I feel, peeling away at the layers that bind me. I am a healthy weight and although I still loathe my body, I am learning to cope. The counting, watching, worrying never stop but we are searching for the ME I WANT TO BE. SIS funded me to do a Counselling course, through which I began to accept that others liked ME and valued my opinion. Life on anorexic/bulimic row doesn’t have to end in death. We are human with sensitive feelings. Please don’t just feed us, show us we matter! Withdrawal Clawing the walls of emotional distress Screams of fire no one can witness A pit of dark, I must not fall Deeper, deeper the surroundings enclose me Physical withdrawal Fear of night ticking endlessly away Reaching out to empty faces Will no one hear my cry? All burnt out, ashes of despair Hallucinations vivid as day Where am I? What is real? Voices heeding make no sense Pain is the only consequence A pin prick of light far away I Can’t see the reason but I’m clinging on Ruth Harbach, October 2005 |
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A Personal Experience
of Eating Disorders For years and years, I have been in and out of institutions; approved schools and borstals, because I sustained physical and sexual abuse while growing up. I was also made a ward of court, when I was 8. When growing up I had a chip on my shoulder, hated the world, but all I really wanted was my mother’s love – but I didn’t get it. What I got was sexually abused by my brother from the age of 5, when he told me to have oral sex with him. I left an approved school when I was 15, he raped me (when I was 50, I tried to prosecute my brother, the police and my solicitor said they could do nothing as it was too long ago, not enough evidence, and he wouldn’t admit it. I am now 56 and still fighting to gain my sanity). After this I committed an offence – broke into a house and was sent to borstal. Since this time, I find I am also “attention seeking” – in ways of making myself very ill by being anorexic and bulimic. I feel “safe” when I am hospitalised – as it reminds me of being safe in the children’s home – because I feel that what I received there and in hospitals is “love, affection and concern for me”. Something which I never got in my “family” setting. I have lived with this for approximately 35 years – at my worst I weighed 4 stone 9 pounds – giving only 3 weeks to live. I have tried to kill myself 3 times – on 2 occasions my lungs collapsed and I was very, very ill. I have also self-harmed by cutting my arms, pulling my hair out, taking 100 laxatives a day, but the self-harm that torments me, and has done all my life is that I deny myself food. Since starting to see a counsellor at S.I.S. I have begun to have good days, and to see things differently. My partner and my niece have given me great support. I look forward to participating in the eating disorders group at S.I.S. and hopefully sharing other member’s thoughts, feelings, coping strategies, their ideas of getting well leading to me having a greater insight into other persons worlds of eating disorders and self-harm. Anon, User of S.I.S. |
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Eating Disorders…..You CAN
you WILL You may remember the first time you threw up after eating, but I doubt you remember when it took control. You can’t imagine your life without it now, its like an old friend you’re afraid to let go of. You watch in amazement at those people in the café eating full dinners, even cakes and scones (god, they’re hard to bring up aren’t they?) and they’re eating slowly AND DIGESTING THEM!!! You can’t remember how that felt, its been so long, but you're not repulsed, you wish “If only I could…..BUT HOW???” Instead you sit with your black coffee/diet coke and light another ciggie. You're tired, weak not to mention starving, but starving is good isn’t it! It’s the dreaded ‘Full’ feeling that’s the enemy, that feeling you fear more than death!!! Your family and friends are worried sick, (that’s if you still have any friends, most will have run screaming in the opposite direction, their fear controls them in a way). You get angry with them, “What’s all the fuss about? I’m not even that thin yet, yeah, I’ve lost a bit, but I’m far from this ill, emaciated creature they’re on about…..Think they must be seeing things because that ain’t the person I see in the mirror”. When it comes to being sick NOTHING & NO-ONE will stop me doing it, as frail as I “apparently” am a team of wild horsed couldn’t keep me from the toilet. I have a ritual involving certain foods going well together and half the River Eden to ensure EVERYTHING exits my body in the same way and speed it went in. NO-ONE must see me in full swing, if I ever saw myself I’d probably slash my wrist (but that’s another story, oh and yeah it has crossed my mind). As I take my final swig of water, my belly ready to pop, I can hardly stand upright, the adrenaline surges through my body and I start to shake with anticipation of the what I am about to do. Making my way to the bathroom is like the longest walk ever….. Locking the bathroom door, removing the jewellery on my right hand, tying my hair back, lifting the loo seat then removing the mat around it (in case it comes out with force, HERE’S HOPING). Take a deep breath and let the games begin….. Afterwards, when I am completely sure its all gone, I examine the contents that lies in front of me just to make sure, my hand and arm are covered in sick, I glance in the mirror my eyes watering and bloodshot, my face puffy, I am revolted at my reflection, I am angry I’ve done it again….. I wash my arm and face, clean my teeth, turn the fan on so no-one can smell it and re-position the bathroom so no-one can tell. My throat is sore, my stomach is wretched to oblivion and I feel like I’ve just run a marathon as I head downstairs to clean the mess in the kitchen, its funny, I don’t remember making this much mess. I vow I am not going to do it again but I check in the mirror, front and side to ensure there is no bread etc. poking outta my tummy, just in case I’ll take laxatives before bed for good measure. Welcome to my life, surely I’m the only person who takes this to this extreme, oh those poor people who do, do this, god I wonder why they do it!! they really should get help. NOT ME you understand, I have this under control. I can stop at anytime….. CAN’T I ????? Well, that was my life for the best part of 17 years, the bulimia didn’t kick in until I was 18 and I had bee starving from age 11 before that. There was no help in Carlisle available so they stuck me in Carleton Clinic (aka Garlands), pumped me full of sedatives and would inform me “Your dinner is ready!!” YEAH RIGHT!!!!! With the help of medication, namely Prozac, and an eating plan I devised myself I am now a happy, healthy 32 year old eating 3 meals a day and of ‘normal’ weight. Don’t get wrong I monitor my weight regularly and I will never allow myself to get fat but back in the day of starving and vomiting I could NEVER envisage myself being where I am today, but now I can’t imagine being in the place I was back then. Hey I even eat chocolate, crisps, chips etc. now AND KEEP THEM DOWN!I’ve even been know to have a ‘full dinner’ in a café (without the cake, because when you have felt it come down your nose, it kinda puts you off them!). My diet for recovery included….. Eating very small amounts every couple of hours to stop a BINGE/PURGE episode. I made my own soup with vegetable stock (didn’t trust supermarket tins, with their added sugar and fat). Drained off the veggies and had a few mouthfuls of the fluid, this made me reap the benefits of the vegetable goodness without the feeling of ‘fullness’, starved off the hunger pangs which inevitably led to binge/purge. I had the energy to do gentle exercise (my choice YOGA, which prompts INNER PEACE) which helped with my positive, well being. Thus dispelling my fears of excessive weight gain. As I became accustomed to my ‘new and very much improved’ body shape, it felt natural to up the anti’s on the food stakes. I had muscle tone, my skin was glowing and my body reacted wonderfully to this new way of life, I looked and felt better than I could ever remember, don’t get me wrong, restaurants and takeaways were still very much out of bounds but I introduced half a small tine of tune in spring water after my workout with natural Evian water (normal glass not bucket full) at same time everyday and my body was ready for it without the desperate hunger I used to experience. Regular walks, and getting out of the house is vital. Because your stomach maybe ‘stretched’ due to the amount you consume in one sitting, this will have to be reduced to avoid the vicious pattern re-emerging, something I found very useful is fibre pills (Holland & Barret, Boots, Superdrug) as this takes the edge off hunger which leads to the obvious. Although these are classed as ‘diet pills’, they are packed with nutrients and will help your insides re-adjust to ‘normal living’. Its like a snowball effect, one positive leads to another and I began to WANT to do good by my body (although coffee and cig’s were still on the agenda). Fro me it was like a blank canvass that had been stripped bare and I could go on and make it into whatever I pleased, for me it was taking the canvass that had nothing on it and developing it into, defined muscles, long hair, glowing skin so when I appeared in a bikini people were like ‘Wow! God I wish I was like that’ rather than ‘OMIGOD, LOOK AT THE STATE OF HER, THAT’S VILE!!!’. You may not think you have the will power to develop your canvass, but believe you me, the amount of will power you have inside you to do what you’re doing right now is OFF THE SCALE. You CAN and you WILL, one day you will look back on this and may wish to help others as I have. Hey, you may eat takaways one day (and keep em down)….. GUESS WHAT…..I DO. Lisa |
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Annette's Story My name is Annette and I’m 39 years old, I’ve been in the psychiatric system since I was 19; at 24 I started to self-harm by cutting. At the time I started to self harm I was going through a lot of emotional pain which I found difficult to cope with but also to express to others this pain. I wanted release from the emotional pain so much that I thought I would substitute it with physical pain. I didn't get the physical pain I wanted but did get a release after which my emotional pain eased for a short time. With me, like a number of other people who self harm, it becomes like an addiction - when the pain is just too much you crave for it, for that short time of ease. At present I’m a volunteer for S.I.S. I’m also the service user representative on the management committee. I’ve been to conferences on self harm along with other service users where we can explain to mainly professionals what it’s like to self harm, how it feels and the impact professionals’ attitudes have on the physical and emotional well being when you are experiencing profound distress. One night in September 2004 I deliberately overdosed on various prescribed and over the counter medication; I ended up in hospital via the a&e department. One week later I was in the same a&e department again, giving a presentation and discussion to the same nurses that treated me the week before on the subject of the emotional impact of self harm when accessing hospital treatment. The nurses were able to ask me questions about the treatment I received and what impact it makes, the feedback from the nurses was positive; it made them think about their attitudes seeing me sitting in front of them as an equal and remembering me the week before when I was in distress accessing the service. The presentation/discussion was a positive experience for all concerned. I have been called the usual names, attention seeking, psycho, nutter, but I’m not, I just cope by a means which is not socially acceptable. I have many scars on my body, which I regret, but these are my battle scars - these say I fought a battle and I’ve survived, what battle was I fighting? The battle to live, the scars aren't saying I want to die, I want to kill myself - each scar on my body says to me, I want to live. I regret the fact that I have scars but I’m not ashamed of them, how can you be ashamed of something that's kept me alive. I have a tattoo on my wrist, it's the Chinese symbol for strength, and that's what people like me have - strength, because we have survived when it could be so easy to just give up living. My Exorcism I want to rid myself of these demons I have many demons that rule my life They control me, manipulate me But they tell me they are my friends My only friends Who is my best friend, my razor blade The blade tells me it’s my friend Tells me it can make me feel better Rid me of the pressure Rid me of my emotions Emotions, it is the demon of hell I don’t want them, I don’t need them But they’re there, all the time Hounding me, criticising me Abusing my life, abusing my very existence Again it tells me it’s my friend But it’s in disguise; it’s the demon from hell My self esteem, my inner self, what is that? Love yourself; you are worthy of being loved Says who? My inner self doesn’t Who wants you? Nobody, who needs you, nobody You can’t love yourself, nobody else does – so why should you? Who uses and abuses you? Everybody Why? Because I let them, Why? The demon guilt Can anyone exercise me of these demons? Yes, Myself but I won’t, They are my friends. By Annette |
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Secret
Harm - Article in News & Star, 28th Feb 2006 Tracey overdosed when she was 13. Lucy was 10 when she cut her arms in the school toilets. Tracey, 24, of Newtown, Carlisle, explains how she started self-harming:  “The
first time was because of bullying. There was a lot of hurt and
frustration building up, a lot of intense emotions and frustrations and
absolutely no outlet for it. “I took mum’s painkillers. Then it was
cutting. It is either cutting or taking overdoses. “There is a
difference to the overdoses, there were a couple of times where I did it
to kill myself, and others where I did it to blot everything out.
“That’s why I have gone binge-drinking.”
Self-harm is a legacy of fostering and adoption for Lucy, 20, also from Carlisle. She cut both her arms in the toilets of her primary school. She says: “It felt all right actually, there was a lot of relief. But my favourite teacher found me and went ballistic. “I knew if I cut my wrists I might die.” |
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The teacher knew Lucy had a troubled home life and Lucy stayed with her for a week. Over the next few months and years, the youngster would cut herself every few weeks. “I was feeling anger and frustration,” she explains. “It’s like getting the badness out.” Cutting is like purging the body. Seeing the blood flow releases the tensions, hurt and despair felt. Tracey explains: “I’m not really sure why I did the cutting. I’ve done it more in recent years. “I started just trying to do it with the kitchen knife, but that was no good so I went out and got some razor blades. “With cutting, people do not know about it, whereas if I had a really bad overdose, people would know. “With cutting, I want to feel better. It makes me feel better for a while – I don’t know if it’s the chemicals in your brain or seeing the blood run out and getting it out. “It’s like a release. It is like a physical embodiment of how you are feeling inside. “It happens for lots of different reasons, but with me it is every time I’m dealing with people who I feel have some sort of control over me, or if I feel I can’t get through to them. “At the moment I’ve been having trouble with my benefits and it is like banging your head against a brick wall. “I had not self-harmed in a while, but I did yesterday. It had been five or six months since the last time I harmed myself. “I have gone for a year without doing it. There was less pressure and people controlling me. I had more say in my life.” Tracey did not know anyone who self-harmed before she started. One of Lucy’s sisters used to cut herself before she started, but Lucy insists that didn’t encourage her to start. She says: “Even if people do copy someone else, they do it to share the pain.” Tracey is bright, cheerful and smartly-dressed. She could be a businesswoman or any office worker. It’s hard to imagine her taking a razor blade to her arm. And Lucy, 20, is bubbly and smart. Sure, there are flashes of her temper, but the wise-cracking livewire doesn’t seem the type to slash her skin. But Lucy doesn’t just cut herself. She binge drinks and punches doors and walls. “I do a lot of drinking,” she says. “I like my drink. Oh yes. You get a buzz from drinking.” She last cut herself a month ago. The reason? Her grin freezes as she says: “You try being homeless for three months. “I was homeless and getting peed off with the homeless officer. “I’m me! I do my own thing, when I want. I do not like other people telling me what to do. “I’ve o-ded before as well, but I mainly drink.” But she says she would not think of burning herself. She scowls: “I would never burn myself, I just would not. You come up with blisters and sores.” Tracey adds: “It leaves scars. I do not cut deep enough to leave really visible scars.” Tracey is keen to explain that while some people may harm themselves, they pose no danger to anyone else. She says: “You hurt yourself, rather than anyone else. It is one of the popular misconceptions that you will harm others.” Can she see an end to her harming herself? She says she’s trying. She says: “I would stop if I found a way to stop disappointments from hitting me like a 10-tonne truck. “It is nothing to be ashamed of. Some people don’t realise it is self-harm, like binge-drinking can be self-harm.” One in 10 teenagers self-harms. That’s at least one youngster in every classroom. They cut, they prick, they overdose, they burn, they binge. It’s a distress signal that can’t be turned into a word or a sound. It can only be expressed as a pain and the pain feels good. Like a release. A freedom. It has been described as screaming without words. It is not about suicide, it is a way of coping, though statistics show that those who self-mutilate are more likely to go on to kill themselves. It is usually done in private because people are ashamed or afraid, but many who self-harm know others who do too. Jill Eastham is manager of the Self-Injury Support Group in North Cumbria, an independent charitable organisation providing support information and advice to those who self-harm. Demand for her help is growing. She explained: “There are more young people doing it; I know this from my own experience and from studies of young children. “It seems to come when people are feeling overwhelmed. It is an act of desperation. “People use us because we are independent, we’re not part of the psychiatric system, you don’t need to be referred to us or go to a doctor first and we are confidential.” Each year in the UK more than 24,000 teenagers are admitted to hospital after deliberately harming themselves. Last year, 749 adults aged 16 and over were admitted to hospital with diagnoses including self-harm. There were 398 admitted to the Cumberland Infirmary and 351 to the West Cumberland Hospital. New referrals to SIS in Milbourne Street, Carlisle, have grown rapidly over the years – from 52 in 2001 to 183 last year. Youngsters aged 13 to 25 form 40 per cent of all referrals and almost all are female. People who self-harm usually do so because of some difficulty they have had. This may include anxiety, depression, bullying, abuse or family breakdown, but can involve many other problems which people face in their everyday lives. Jill said: “We try to get our information out as broadly as we can to schools, GPs and clinics. “We find it really difficult getting into schools. “Some do not want to acknowledge it is happening and will not put posters up or give leaflets out. “If you can get it in the early stages you can nip it in the bud. But it can become habit-forming.” Thanks to Cumbrian Newspapers Ltd for the use of their article and photo |
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Heart's Love For every life there is a death, For every tear there is a smile, For every wound there is a scar, For every heart there is a stone, There is a love for every love, But true heart's love is rarely known. By Ellen Spencer |
Nightmare Witches and wizards Demons unite Darkness does fall This terrible night! Evil approaches Chaos descends This world of magic Has come to an end. By Ellen Spencer |
Lullaby Go to sleep, rest your eyes, Dream of candy and cotton skies. Go to sleep, rest your brain, Dream of love, and love again. Go to sleep, rest your head, Hope and pray you wake up dead. By Ellen Spencer |
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Curse! Blood shall curdle, boil and spit, Skin will peel and bones will split, Minds will flicker, fade and die, As your demons rise and take to the sky. By Ellen Spencer |
A Knife's Song Sleep my sweet, Dream my love. Cry my precious, Weep my dove. Cut my darling, Bleed my heart. Scar my sweety, Kill my flow'r. By Ellen Spencer |
Memories Fading The scars run deep, The knife lies cold, The blood banishes sleep, In nights of old... By Ellen Spencer |
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