By Gordon Houghton
Felix Fly, the narrator of The Dinner Party (TDP) is a self-mutilator.
I created him in 1992, because I had an interest in ritual from
the works of Joseph Campbell, and as a response to my own experience
of self-injury. I cut myself when I was 19 because I was deeply
homesick and unable to express my feelings in any other way; and
the memory of those emotions and experiences resurfaced seven
years later in Felix. When I started writing I had no idea that
he would turn into the character he has now become, or that he
would eventually reignite my curiosity about others who injured
themselves.
Although Felix’s acts are much more excessive than mine ever
were – and are associated with a need to find meaning in his life
through secret rituals and sacred objects – his descriptions of
many of the feelings associated with self-injury (SI) are an accurate
reflection of my own. SI externalises emotion in a concrete, apparently
controllable way. It relieves tension, frustration, anger, numbness
(though only temporarily), and makes the self-harmer feel at once
ashamed and special. But in the end, it’s a poor solution to the
problem of self-expression; there are much less destructive forms.
My own answer has been The Dinner Party, and talking through what
I did with my parents. Others are detailed below.
In this article, I’ve tried to cover the issue of self-injury
from three angles: the professional/medical approach, the experience
of individuals, and what people can do to stop. If you’re a self-injurer,
or you know someone who does it, there is a list of help resources
at the end.
I
‘It means you can avoid committing suicide when, deep down, you
don’t really want to do it; but you still have a permanent reminder
that a bad thing has happened, or is happening to you.’ (TDP,
p. 146)
Rachel is sixteen years old, and cuts herself. She takes whatever
tools she can find – razor blades, utility knives, scalpels –
and carves patterns on her skin. When she’s finished, she stems
the blood flow with toilet paper and carefully bandages the wounds.
She has cut so many different shapes and designs into her arms
that the scars are barely recognisable.
‘I used to cut daily,’ she explains, ‘sometimes because of stressful
events in my life, other times because of general depression and
suicidal feelings, and after a while simply because I was bored
and it became just something I did.’
An estimated 0.75% of the population are active self-injurers.
That’s one in every 130 people, a figure which excludes the culturally-sanctioned
forms of mutilation such as tattoos, body-piercing and sado-masochism.
It’s a figure which is also comparable to the incidence of major
mental illnesses such as schizophrenia and manic depressive disorders
– yet the condition is rarely regarded as an illness, and sufferers
are often treated unsympathetically.
Self-injury (SI) can be defined as an act which damages one’s
own tissue with the intent of causing injury or relieving tension.
Typical behaviour ranges from biting, pulling hair, picking at
scabs and punching walls, through cutting (by far the most prevalent
method), burning and piercing skin, to breaking bones and rubbing
dirt into open wounds.
Because these activities are rarely aired in a public context,
plenty of myths surround them. For example, people assume that
self-harmers are crazy or a danger to others, that they’re attention-seeking
and manipulative, or that they’re trying to commit suicide. None
of these assumptions is true, but all are efficient ways of dismissing
what sufferers do rather than discovering why they need to do
it.
Armando Favazza M.D., author of the ground-breaking book on self-injury,
Bodies Under Siege, claims that self-harm is ‘the opposite of
suicide’. He was one of the first doctors to regard the condition
as a syndrome in its own right, and emphasises its links with
depression and compulsive behaviours such as bulimia, kleptomania
and alcohol/substance abuse. These parallels are reflected in
his research, which suggests that the backgrounds of self-mutilators
‘often include child abuse (50-60%), and childhood illnesses and
surgical procedures’.
Deb Martinson, administrator of the Bodies Under Siege (BUS)
mailing list on the Internet, enhances this picture: ‘The common
factor seems to be an inability to deal with emotion. Self-injurers
are often people who, when they were children, were told their
feelings were bad, inappropriate, or inaccurate; and they have
grown up not knowing how to handle feelings. SI provides a quick,
dramatic release.’
She notes that studies often portray self-harmers as young, white,
middle class and female, but her own experience contradicts this.
‘I’ve talked to people on the list ranging from 13 to nearly 60,
from both sexes and all walks of life. The one factor which shows
up time and again is that these people didn’t feel they mattered
to anyone… They never felt special or important.’
In truth, there are a wide variety of factors which contribute
to SI. Background influences include domestic violence, loss of
a parent through death or divorce, lack of emotional warmth in
childhood, hypercritical fathers, parental depression, and neglect.
Common personality traits include perfectionism, disgust with
one’s own body, hypersensitivity to intense feelings, inability
to express emotions and mood swings. There’s no such thing as
a ‘typical’ self-harmer.
It’s generally accepted, however, that two to three times more
women than men are likely to injure themselves. Favazza suggests
this is ‘because in most cultures women tend to turn their aggression
inward’. Martinson sees the flip side of this argument: ‘Men are
socialised not to show feelings, so perhaps they have an easier
time suppressing "bad" emotions…’ She also offers
a biological explanation. ‘Serotonin abnormality is implicated
in both depression and self-injury, and more women than men are
depressed as well as self-injure.’
II
‘For a brief moment after the cut, there’s nothing, not even pain.
Then there’s a sharp, short-lived sting. Then a duller wave which
overwhelms it. And then the blood begins to flow.’ (TDP, p. 68)
The first question most people ask when confronted with SI is:
why do you do it? A group of self-harmers interviewed for this
article gave replies consistent with Martinson’s observations:
‘I cut in order to feel something’, ‘I don’t like myself much’,
‘it takes away all the black inside’, ‘it’s easier for me to deal
with physical pain than the emotional stuff’. It’s a way of externalising
emotion, and imposing control on something which feels chaotic.
Respondents also identified feelings of intolerable tension or
emptiness which can only be relieved by self-injury. As Rachel
comments, ‘the first time I cut, I was struck by the image of
all the feeling I had slowly leaking out of my body through the
wounds.’ But the relief is only temporary. ‘At first it did help,
and after I cut I would be almost happy… but by the next morning
I would be depressed and wanting to self-injure again.’
When it comes to the question does it hurt?, the feedback is
more ambivalent. Some couldn’t remember the pain, or didn’t feel
it at all because of their emotional numbness. Most said they
felt ‘a little’, but ‘it wasn’t too harsh’, or ‘it hurt, but I
didn’t really mind’. A few thought it was ‘very painful’, but
qualified it: ‘I had complete control’, ‘I think that I deserve
it’, and even ‘it felt great’. In all cases, mental relief was
seen as more important than physical discomfort.
The connection between self-harming and control is reinforced
by ritual. Some people make repeated use of special tools and
particular rooms, listen to certain kinds of music, and have a
firmly established order of events. Martinson suggests this is
because ‘the ritual helps the person focus their mind and block
out everything except the act’. Favazza’s explanation is more
clinical: ‘Ritualistic behaviours help cutters to bind their anxiety.’
While ritual appears to be optional, almost all self-injurers
feel shame as a result of their SI. This is reflected in the attitudes
of cutters towards their scars, typically self-loathing: ‘I hate
my body, so the scars don’t really make any difference’, ‘I hate
them and try to disguise them’, ‘I feel as if I deserve the scars’.
Rachel’s view is more practical: ‘Since most people already know
about my cutting, I have no fears about showing my scars. The
only time I worry is at a job interview, or when I’m trying to
impress someone.’
Shame makes it hard to admit to what you are doing, and self-injurers
find it particularly difficult to find support. The medical profession
– psychiatric personnel excluded – is a target for particular
criticism. Bulletins on various websites allege that self-harmers
are treated as ‘a waste of time’, and that one doctor even stitched
a girl’s wrist without anaesthesia: ‘It was like he wanted to
teach me a lesson, but instead he taught me that I could withstand
more pain than I thought.’
Deb Martinson argues for a more sympathetic approach, pointing
out that SI is little different from alcohol abuse, drugs, smoking
and eating disorders. The best hospital programme she’s encountered
is one in Beckenham, Kent, where ‘clients are not forbidden to
hurt themselves, but are expected to take responsibility for what
they do. If they cut, they bandage their wounds, clean up their
mess and talk to staff about what happened and how it could have
been different.’
III
‘You could, of course, pull yourself together. But it’s much easier
tearing yourself apart.’ (TDP p. 146)
Those closest to the self-harmer understandably have most difficulty
coping. Rachel says her parents ‘were scared by it. My dad gave
me a lecture on God and took my blades away. My friends were scared
too, though a few of them stepped into help… But people trying
to "fix" me only screwed things up more.’
Martinson offers some general advice for friends and families.
‘The worst thing you can do is go away… and the second worst
is to give an ultimatum. In most cases, the person doing this
would stop if they knew how. They’re generally not doing it to
annoy you or manipulate you – although it can feel as though they
are.’ She also advocates maintaining an accepting, open attitude
towards SI, recognising the severity of the sufferer’s distress,
and encouraging them to seek help from a counsellor.
Whether you harm yourself or know someone who does, it’s important
to remember that you’re not alone. In the UK, there’s the Bristol
Crisis Service for Women, the newsletter SHOUT, the National Self-Harm
Network, and many other local organisations. Books on the subject,
such as Tracy Alderman’s The Scarred Soul, offer a humane and
practical approach. On the Web, too, there are dozens of good
sites offering both professional help and personal confessions.
For Deb Martinson, informality and anonymity are the Internet’s
great strengths: ‘People can look for information without explaining
why they want it, and it makes it easier for them to talk about
it.’
Above all, everyone agrees that self-harmers should look for
ways to change their behaviour. Martinson says that first ‘you
have to make a decision you no longer want to do it. After that,
the only way to stop is to find other coping mechanisms and learn
to substitute them for self-injury.’ She suggests, for example,
pressing ice against your skin rather than burning yourself, and
then substituting something later for the ice. ‘Match the activity
to how you feel. If you’re sad, do something soothing; if you’re
angry, do something physical.’
The main thing is to be kind to yourself. ‘When you lapse, let
go of the guilt and move on. Set positive goals and reward yourself
for achieving them. Deal with the issues that underlie your self-injury…
But do everything in small steps.’ She also recommends support
networks: ‘the more people involved in a self-injurer’s life who
know and understand what’s going on, the easier it is for that
person to work towards a recovery.’
On a practical level, you should avoid materials which might
lead you to self-harm, remind yourself of the long-term consequences,
stay away from drugs and alcohol, or simply get a loved one to
hold you until the impulse passes. In general, many people have
found it helpful to accept their SI as a good thing, while at
the same time recognising it as a harmful behaviour. As one respondent
said: ‘It’s okay to cut – it’s just better to stop.’
If you succeed, bear in mind that your problems won’t automatically
disappear. As Rachel points out, ‘Even if a person has stopped
actively hurting themselves, they are still fighting the same
battle, every hour of every day. It doesn’t mean the issues aren’t
there, they are just better hidden.’
In The Dinner Party, Felix shares many of the features of self-injurers
detailed here. He expresses himself through cutting, he’s intense
and unafraid of pain, and he uses ritual to focus his mind on
why he does what he does. There is however no connection between
his SI and the act of violence which he commits towards the end
of the book: that act is directly connected to what he perceives
as the desecration of one of his sacred objects. As the article
says, self-harmers are not a danger to others – they are a danger
only to themselves.
Copyright © Gordon Houghton 1998
Gordon Houghton is a former self-harmer. His novel The Dinner Party is published
by Anchor at £6.99. He can be emailed at <[email protected]>
Related Links
Secret Shame
Deb Martinson’s website, devoted entirely to SI. Personal stories,
help for self-harmers and their families, chat, medical information,
and a comprehensive series of links.
BUS (Bodies Under Siege mailing list)
On-line support group for ‘anyone with an interest in self-injury’.
To join, send mail to [email protected] with subscribe
bus as the mail body.
