Among other things, I suffer (although I wouldn't use that word) from BIID (body integrity identity disorder) where I feel as though my right arm does not belong on my body. In extreme cases of BIID, the person will self-amputate a limb, or cause injury to turn themselves into a quadriplegic, etc. Mine is focused on my right arm, so I began cutting there. Mind you, I started this at age 40. I never cut before and never had an urge to. Now I just don't feel my arm belongs to me. I would study for hours the ways I could sever the arm, how to arrange the timing of the ambulance in such a way that they couldn't recover the arm and sew it back on, how to anesthetize myself, and even would fanatasize about the replacement prosthetic I would get. This is similar to transgender people, who feel they are the wrong sex. I just feel like I am not supposed to have this arm.
I started cutting as a form of punishment, during the height of the experiences which (I would later learn) would cause my PTSD. I took photos and would stare at them for hours. I still have them, the sink filled with blood, the blades cutting into me, blood running down in these tribal patterns to my hand, and into the sink. I cut the circles, though. Not random, but ART. I was punishing myself, mutiliating that damn arm, trying to imprison it. To bind its evil. Makes no sense, I know, but that's what I was thinking.
After the cuts didn't turn out the way I wanted, I eventually tattooed it, and I use the tattoos as a mental game to pretend that the arm is now "bound" to me, under my control, and belongs to me. I know it wouldn't make sense to anyone else, but it works for me, possibly as nothing more than a mind trick. I no longer have the urge to sever it.
Lately, though, as things are going bad again, I am feeling the urge to cut again. I just meditate now. I just remind myself that I am not this body, nor this arm, and that my entire physical makeup is nothing more than my own thoughts. I give everything I see and feel meaning, and can change that meaning if I want to... it's just very hard to to right now. But at least I am not cutting, not trying to saw off a limb, and not doing all the other crazy behavior to hurt myself either (like intentionally getting into fights with giant bikers, or driving fast and aiming towards street lamps.)
My ego side hates itself. Speaking from that side, I can say, I hate myself, deserve to die, deserve every punishment that everyone has ever given me, and more, and more that I can do to myself, at every minute. My life should be a living hell, and it is, but it's not hellish enough yet. I can rain down more hell on myself, and I will, until I am utterly destroyed. Blood, fire, pain, agony, whatever I can muster, I will.
That was a big part of the cutting. A way to show the world, no matter what you think you can do to me, THIS IS WHAT I CAN DO TO MYSELF. As scary as you think YOU are, abuser, I can out-do you to myself in a heartbeat. It was, in a way, taking power back from external abusers, by taking over the abuse and doing it myself. And by making it art, it was self-abuse I could be PROUD of.
My non-ego side knows this is sickness and fantasy, and that I am nothing but my thoughts, and my thoughts have become polluted. And I can change my thoughts. So that is what I focus on. Changing how I think. Trying to love myself.
But its Jekyll and Hyde in here, I gotta tell you. Every day is a struggle between two forces in my head, and all the while I am supposed to work, and smile and be normal while this battle, this monstrous WAR, is going on between my ears.
And Hyde wants out, I can tell you. It's one of the reasons I am moving to Peru. Less triggers, less opportunities for bad thoughts. I hope it's not because it's dangerous and risky... maybe Hyde's playing a subtle game and I don't even know it. I don't think he's that smart.
I just have to keep breathing.