I am constantly looking for scientific answers to justify what I believe to be true with regards to both self-injury and eating disorders. To an outsider, these disorders are hard to understand, but for the sufferer, it rarely comes as a surprise.

I believe two things: (1) These disorders have a biological/genetic connection and (2) there are factors that contribute to forcing them to manifest. If these factors weren't present, it's very possible these disorders could be avoided, regardless of the genetic predisposition.

In a Time magazine article today, http://www.time.com/time/health/article/0,8599,1904999,00.html, the link between anorexia in girls and autism or Asperger's in boys may be evident. How? These conditions share a common set of traits: rigidity in thinking, an intense focus on detail, a resistance to change and a narrow mental focus. "There is evidence that the "repetitive thoughts and behaviors, rigid routines and rituals and perfectionism" that characterize both autism and anorexia may be traced to the same regions in the brain."

What if these disorders were different because of gender? "It's possible, she [Janet Treasure]says, that the same genetic predisposition for autism and anorexia may be expressed differently depending on gender."

Think about it.

It makes sense that young women would be obsessed with physical appearance and young boys would be obsessed with things like cars or trains.

"About 15 times as many boys are given a diagnosis of Asperger's syndrome as are girls, and nearly 10 times as many girls develop anorexia as boys. It's easy to see how an outsized sense of perfectionism in a female might lead to an unhealthy obsession with thinness — given society's preoccupation with physical appearance — while a male might end up obsessing about cars or trains, which is typical in autistic boys. "The reason [Asperger's] is usually diagnosed less often in females may be because it takes a different form — anorexia may be just one of the forms," says Baron-Cohen."


"Researchers may be able to pinpoint specific early risk factors to help identify kids who are vulnerable to developing anorexia — much the same way specialists can now recognize signs of autism as early as 12 months."

Isn't that amazing? Think about what this means!! What if there were a set of "triggers" that could be identified and looked for? What if there was early-intervention and anorexia was a disorder that could be avoided?

Imagine what a life-changing thing this would be!

I think of this like shingles. Shingles is caused by the same virus as chicken pox. Once you have chicken pox, this virus stays in your body, dormant. In later years, something like a highly-stressful situation can cause this virus to become active. Minimizing stress minimizes ones chances of having a shingles outbreak.

I find studies like this very exciting. It helps to validate what I've felt all my life: I am different than others because of the way I respond to my environment, but I also believe that some of the messages I was given as a small child helped to cement some of my negative thinking that made something like an eating disorder almost inevitable.

This is something to think about and consider.

I think as a world we have always known that words had power, but science is one step closer to proving how much.

tags: anorexia, autism, emotional health, genetic connection, recovery, treatment, triggers

When I think of my mind, I imagine it to be a huge filing cabinet. When I'm thinking about something, I literally imagine a part of myself walking up and down these huge halls pulling out files, scanning them fo relevance, and then either taking them to look at further, or putting them back and continuing the search.

When I was small, one of the "myths" that went around school was that a person could control what they dreamed about by thinking about one thing straight until they fall asleep.

I cannot tell you how many times in my life I have tested this theory.

When my grandma died, I mentally returned to her house and tried to summon every image, smell, texture and memory I had of her.

True to form, more often than not, she appeared in some form or fashion in my dreams.

When I got divorced, the same was true. Not wanting to focus on the negative, I tried to recall the good times, the times before the tears and angry words.

Some times it worked, but more often than not, it didn't.

In hindsight, I think the wounds were too fresh, the emotions too raw and the proximity to the situation, stiffling.

This week I have tried to test this myth yet again.

Even though on a rational level I know my dog is gone, it really feels like he's just been away at the vet, or staying with a neighbor.

My heart hasn't really been able to accept what my mind has known all along.

What if I could feel my dog in my arms just one more time, in my dreams, and let him go?

It took me a week, but it finally worked.

And last night, he was there, healthy and happy, wriggling in my arms.

In my dreams, I talk to myself a lot. And I remember thinking, "he's here! In my arms! Warm and safe."

The mind is an amazing thing. When I trip in my dreams, I imagine I jerk in real life in response to an object that doesn't exist, but that I'm sure is out to hurt me.

When I fall in my dreams, I can feel myself falling through space, clawing for something solid to break my fall.

I have woken up crying before because in my dreams, someone has died and it is so real, that I am left with no choice but to call and hear their voice just to reassure myself that it was only a dream.

And last night, I feel like my heart finally said good-bye to my dog. He was in my arms, heavy with life, and I was able to let him go.

When I woke up this morning, I felt differently than I have all week. I'm sad, yes, but I feel complete in some way that I had "one more minute" with him.

Last night, my memories of Connor created a new file in my mind. And one day, if I ever need to remember something about him, it's all there, waiting for me to pull it back out again.

Loss of any kind is difficult, but dreams make it a little easier because in them, things and people don't seem that far away.

My heart has healed a little...and it's good.

tags: healng, loss, memories, recovery

On the news this week there was a story about a young girl that had been bitten in the face by an alligator. The jaws clamped down literally over one of her eyes and down to her cheekbone. But in looking at her, her scars are minimal. Extraordinary!

The interviewer was asking her about her scars and asked if she was relieved that they were almost totally non-existent and the young lady said no, the if anything, she was sad they were faded away because it meant that her opportunities to educate others about what had happened to her was becoming less and less.

This is an interesting point.

As the months pass by, my scars too have faded. If I am standing under hot water or something they become clear, but on a regular day, they aren't nearly as obvious as they used to be.

I've never obsessed about my scars really. I made them and have embraced them as part of who I am.

But now that they are fading away, who I am is slowly changing.

In the past, people asked me about them.

But it's been months since that has happened.

I used to be self-conscious about the shirts I wore.

Now I wear pretty much what I like.

I didn't ever expect there to be a time when self-injury wasn't a part of my life, so imagine my surprise to find out that the scars I always knew would be there, are over time, disappearing.

I can't say I'm sad about this fact but it is odd to look down at my arms and not have scars be the first thing I see.

I understand what the young girl meant about educating others. When people saw her scars, because they were in such a unique position, they asked her what happened and that segwayed into an educational opportunity.

But now the segway doesn't exist and to just randomly come out with her story seems untimely.

I feel the same way.

Without my scars being evident, people don't know anything used to be wrong and therefore don't ask.

As time passes, that part of my life becomes further and further something I'm removed from and I don't talk about it as often as I once did.

In the past, I felt fractured because I was living a lie and couldn't tell the world my secret.

But now I feel once again like I am two people: Vanessa as a self-injurer and Vanessa without it.

It's weird. After three years of not injuring I am continuing to learn about myself and re-define who I am.

The old Vanessa is faded, but not totally gone.

That's a good thing. The scars showed where I'd been but to have them fading shows how far I've come.

tags: cutting, emotional health, recovery, scars, self-injury, sense of self

It's amazing how things can happen sometimes. You know, the best laid plans and all of that...

Spring Break 2009. No world travel. No winning the lottery. Oh no. For myself, this last week brought with it a trip to Boston and Influenza type A. It's funny how we always say we have the flu when we feel bad. But now that I've REALLY had the flu, nothing, and I mean nothing, can compare to how quickly I became sick and how sick I became.

One minute I'm fine and then less than four hours later, I'm in a fetal position with a fever of 103 and hallucinating.

Seriously.

I don't think I could have felt worse if I'd been hit by a truck.

OK. Maybe a little bit worse.

But not much.

When I went in to the doctors office they stuck two swabs up my nose. They tested positive for influenza immediately.

"Congratulations", the doctor said, "you hit the big one. You feel horrible now, but give yourself five days or so and you should be feeling better."

Bundling myself back up, I headed out the door back to bed where I lived for the next several days.

Experiences like this teach me several things.

One, I really do have little control over the things in my life. Had I known for one second what was coming for me over the holiday, I would have never planned to travel so far away from home.

Two, when you feel bad, home is the ONLY place you want to be. Period.

Three, things that most of the time I think "can't wait", all of a sudden do when something like this happens.

Four, my body has all the tools it needs to heal itself given the right set of circumstances.

Five, time loses its meaning and importance when you are really sick.

Six, everyone knows what it's like to feel bad and are sensitive to that fact. I am amazed at the kindness of others when I look like death warmed over.

And finally, it's true what they say about not appreciating your health until you don't have it. I didn't have it this week and missed it terribly. But now that I'm feeling back to old self again, I find myself wanting to treat my body a little better.

It's been almost a week now since I've had a soft drink.

A small thing for sure, but a big step for me.

tags: control issues, health, illness, recovery

The issue of affording treatment is always something that comes up, even in the best of financial times.

But now that most Americans are having to make the hard choices, where does one find the money to pay for therapy or extended treatment?

All I can say is that I've had to be very creative in paying for my treatment. Although some of my therapy would have been covered by insurance, I was so afraid of their being a "paper trail" through my insurance that would expose my self-injury, that I paid for all of my therapy by myself.

As anyone who has been in therapy knows, treatment isn't cheap. I paid $100 per hour (really 50 minutes) ten or more times per month.

As a teacher, this was a tremendous financial burden, but one I had to take on in order to get myself to a healthy emotional place.

There were times when I did not have the money for therapy and couldn't find anyone to help me with a payment plan.

In times of great financial strain, I sought out a therapist through my local community advocacy center. The therapists there were not yet certified, but instead students working on their last hours of supervised therapy.

I didn't care.

I needed someone to talk to, whether they understood my disorder completely or not, and used them as long as I could until I was strong enough and had more resources to return to my regular therapist.

In my early years, there were counseling services through my church that I used. Fees for these services were based on a sliding scale which meant you paid what you could afford. I didn't have a income at that time and so I got my sessions for free.

Affording therapy or treatment is never easy, but it is possible if one is resourceful.

This is an investment in YOU. It's never a bad idea to ask questions or to see if someone will work with you with regards to payment arrangements.

The worst a person can say is no, but you never know for sure until you ask.

The times in my life when I could afford it the least were usually the times when I needed to talk to someone the most.

My self-injury increased when things were tight, when I felt trapped, when creditors were calling at 5AM on a Sunday.

I know what it's like to want to disappear and not have the resources to run that far.

But in the end, I had the face the fight. I had to go out of my comfort zone and find people who would help me make it one more day.

It wasn't always the most ideal situation, but it worked. And as soon as I could, I returned to my regular therapist.

Don't put yourself last. Don't allow financial limitations to totally shut down the work you are doing. Be honest with your therapist. Tell them what you can and cannot afford. If they can't see you without full payment, maybe they know someone who can.

Don't be ashamed. This is real life.

YOU must keep fighting for your health and well-being, even in times of financial difficulty.

If you are a high school student, ask to speak to one of the counselors on campus. They are professionally trained counselors and are on campus to help you. If they do not have the resources on campus to address your needs, they should be able to partner you with someone in your community.

If you are a college student, ask to speak to someone in Student Services. There is a counseling center on all college campuses. The number or sessions you get may be limited (I hear the number 10 a lot) but in severe cases, more sessions are alloted.

If you are a professional, explore the resources in your community. Ask about free counseling services through your community advocacy center. If you pay taxes in that community, you are entitled to take advantage of their services.

And finally, if you belong to a church or diocese, ask if there are counselors you can visit with.

I realize that none of these solutions are the same as working with a certified therapist week to week. But gains can still be made even with a new person.

Money is hard to come by right now, for everyone.

But therapy doesn't have to stop. Fight for yourself.

You deserve it!

tags: cutting, mental health, recovery, self-injury, therapy, treatment

Of all the medical conditions there are, Munchausen by Proxy has to be one of the most disturbing. I don't know much about it and have never really heard anyone speak on it. But last week, I came across a book that piqued my interest: Sickened: The Memoir of a Munchausen by Proxy Childhood by Julie Gregory.

I feel like my eyes have been opened to a new horror.

The more I read about different psycholgical conditions people experience, the more I realize two things: one, a parent's treatment of their children early in life impacts them indefinately and two, that most people are stronger than they realize in overcoming tremendous adversity.

I am always amazed at the amount of fight in others and remiss that there isn't more of it within me at times.

I think of the people, like Julie, who are terrorized by the very people that gave them life. To be able to find a sense of self again and then to take it one step further and continue a relationship with their abuser is something I struggle to understand.

I have experienced many things in my life, but none as horrific as what Julie described.

Her story inspires me.

It reaffirmes that others are dealing with things behind closed doors that few know anything about.

How sad to pass judgement on others without knowing the real story.

But it happens all the time, doesn't it?

Julie's story is filled with raw emotion and after reading it, one can't help but feel a little ashamed at how much life issues have impacted them when in comparison, they really aren't that bad.

I have learned something this week, both about a disorder I knew little about and about myself.

I'm realizing that inspiration to help me on my journey can come from places I least expect.

And even though my past and Julie's differ, our wounded spirits speak the same language.

There continues to be comfort in numbers.

tags: childhood abuse, munchausen by proxy, physical ailments, psychological disorder, recovery, relationships, treatment

For all the time I've spent searching, you think I'd have all the answers I've been looking for.

But I don't.

Answers offer a lot of things to the person asking.

Insight.

Reassurance.

Logical explanations.

Another point of view.

Background history.

And perhaps most important...

Closure.

Over the years I've asked my parents a lot of questions.

About their marriage.

Their divorce.

Their parents.

Their relationships with their parents.

A health history...on both sides of the family tree.

ALL of these with the hopes of finding that one "ah ha" moment that would explain why I am the way I am.

Most of the times the answers have been hard to come by.

Some things it seems are better left unsaid...even decades after the fact.

But the answers I have managed to get have been, in one word, unsatisfying.

I have yet to find the "ah ha" moment and find myself asking more often than not, that's it?

Some questions I've learned have no real answer.

It's like trying to explain the moment you realized your best friend was indeed your best friend.

It just happened.

Lots of things in life "just happen".

Life throws us curve balls that we field without really having control over where they land.

We aim, close our eyes and hope for the best.

Sometimes the best means love lost, hurt feelings, loss of trust and regret.

It wasn't planned.

It just happened.

I'm learning that sometimes no answer IS the answer.

It doesn't matter how long I search or who I ask, the information I'm looking for just may not exist.

That's a hard pill to swallow.

Why?

Because I was raised to believe that "seek and ye shall find."

Although that is rooted in biblical truth, I've applied to most of the things in my life.

How disappointing to know that the answers I want, may not be answers I can find.

But the hope is that one day they will be.

My hope is that by speaking out about self-injury, that one day there WILL be an "ah ha" moment.

But I haven't been able to give up the fight completely.

I still read and talk to people and share with the hopes of making some new connection or exposing myself to a new way of thinking that I hadn't considered before.

It's funny.

Three years ago when I injured last, I just knew that one day I would have this whole self-injury thing figured out.

But that hasn't turned out to be the case.

At least, not yet.

tags: closure, cutting, insight, recovery, self-injury, self-mutilation, treatment

It's amazing how dates become significant depending on what's going on in your life at the time.

For almost 20 years, August 31 was a significant day for me because that was the day I met my ex-husband and we shared our first date. I knew that night that he was the man I was going to marry, and I was right.

Days associated with birthdays, anniversaries, family celebrations, etc. imprint themselves on your mind.

And then one day you wake up and none of that matters anymore.

The dates that held so much significance are no longer yours to claim.

Three years after my divorce, I wonder when I will forget that they were ever important in the first place.

January 28.

January 29.

For so long, so important, but now they are just another day on the calendar.

They have been replaced with NEW days of significance.

September 31.

June 12.

But it's hard not to stop and take pause on days important in my past. I don't wish them back, but it feels wrong to ignore that they were important in the first place.

People don't seem to talk about that.

Moving on after a loss.

I wonder if a year has ever gone by since my dad left that my mother hasn't remembered my dad's birthday on March 19th.

How do you pretend the day is nothing when your heart gave it permanence long ago?

And I wonder about my NEW dates of importance.

Will these be the days I remember forever, or will they too one day become a distant memory of what was?

People talk about moving on like it's an easy thing, but it's not. A loss is a loss and it continues to be that way whether the loss is as a result of a death, divorce or murder.

It's amazing the days you remember: getting your first kiss, your dad leaving, graduating from college, getting married, getting divorced, falling in love again with someone new...

I look now to great anticipation with another day I will remember forever.

February 23, 2006.

The last time I cut.

But I didn't know it at the time.

I know there are more dates of importance waiting for me.

But it's hard to shift my thinking about the old ones.

tags: cutting, emotional health, loss, memories, recovery, self-injury, treatment

I get a lot of e-mails that usually end with something like this: "I want to believe I can get past this, but..." or "I want to believe that this new treatment plan will work but..."

Whenever there is an element of doubt in your belief system, you've already undermined your effort.

Assurance, even if based on hope, is a requirement of giving your best. You MUST believe you are worthy of that job promotion if you hope to exude an air of confidence and assertiveness. Timidity won't cut it. You have to walk in to the bosses office and own it.

This is the same with any challenge you face.

How many teams start their spring training with the "I hope we can make it to the top this year!"

None if they really want to win!!

Instead, the attitude should be, "We are headed for the Super Bowl!" It's never too early to envision one's goal and know in your heart it's possible.

Otherwise, what's the point of even trying if you yourself aren't convinced you will make it?

How can one expect others to believe in them when they have doubt themselves?

A critical part to recovery is the belief that (1) it's possible and (2) I'm worthy of being a whole and healthy person.

I have learned this lesson the hard way when it came to both my eating disorder and self-injury treatment plans.

There were several times when I was asked to do something by my therapist and I didn't do it. I didn't believe it would work and because I wasn't vested in the process, had set myself up for failure before I even started. It was only once I had exhausted my own ideas that I resolved myself to trying things I wasn't convinced would work.

My therapists and I talked long and hard about the attitude and effort connection. If I didn't believe it would work, it wouldn't because I hadn't given it a chance to. But if I gave it my all and really opened myself up to the possibility that it just might work, then I could expect a more positive outcome.

You have to believe. You have to believe in you. Your own health. Your deserving of a life free of self-inflicted pain.

It sounds funny, but your believing is the difference between an old life and a new one.

Today is a new day.

Believe it!

tags: effort, mental attitude, outlook, recovery, self-injury, treatment

Emotionally-needy friends are difficult to manage. It's hard when you want to be there for someone and you feel like you are there for them more often than they are there for you. But there is something wrong with the friendship when the phone rings and you see who's calling and think, "Do I have the energy to answer this" or "What is it THIS time?"

In the beginning, we shared a lot of the same struggles. But over time, I've progressed and this person hasn't, consciously choosing to dig in her heels and embrace a disorder that's ruining her life.

No one likes to feel like a victim.

Or do they?

I think sympathy is addictive. Once someone starts paying attention to whatever it is, it continues. Because the fear is, once the issue is resolved, there won't be any more attention garnered on this person.

A fallacy in thinking for sure.

I'm not interested in someone because they are sick or dysfunctional or eccentric. I like a person for who they are and continue my interactions with them based on how they make me feel when we're together or after a conversation.

But what happens when after talking with this person you feel worse?

Modeling only goes so far. I'm finding out that it's true that you can lead a horse to water but can't make him drink. I've even goes so as to give this friend a straw so they won't have to stretch their neck so far to reach water, but I can't pry their jaws open to take it.

Some people choose sickness over health.

This is a hard thing for me to accept.

I mean, who wouldn't want to get better? Who wouldn't want more out of their life?

Doing things you know you shouldn't over and over again isn't impusivity, it's stupidity.

How long are you expected to watch a train heading straight towards you before you leap out of the way?

Getting rid of this friendship is going to be difficult. This person has lost quite a few friendships because "she's just too much to handle" and I hate that my name too will soon be added to this list.

But friendships like this challenge my SI sobriety.

In order for me to "stay clean", I need a clean environment. I need people in my life who are equally committed to getting better and staying healthy. If they're not, then they are a liability and I have to let them go.

I hate that my friend has chosen to be a victim by choice.

But I'm not.

I'm choosing to continue my journey going forward boldly without abuse, without fear of relapse and without constant exposure to triggers.

Spending any length of time with this person is dangerous. Their allure and fascination with things that are ruining their life is something I thought I could change.

I know, big joke, right?

But I do think people can change.

The key is THEY have to want it just as much as I want it for them.

I'm not a bad person for recognizing this situation and acting on it.

Am I feeling bad about it?

Yes. But this is one of those choices that has to be made.

I am a wonderful friend and a tremendous support system for those who need it and are willing to use it for their improvement, not as a crutch for bad habits.

tags: friendship, recovery, self-esteem, self-injury, self-preservation, support network

I find it interesting when people say they don't believe a person can make a difference.

I ask, "Do you cheer at sporting events?"

The response to this is usually one of confusion initially, but the answer is always the same. "Well, sure."

"Why?"

"I want my team to win."

"Do you think your team needs your applause to win?"

"No. But I think it makes a difference when they hear all of that noise behind them."

Exactly my point.

We don't know for sure if the person who's running with the ball or shooting for the goal can even hear us shouting their name or feverishly applauding, but we do it because we are afraid that if we don't, they just might miss.

EVERY little thing we do makes a difference one way or another. Life is like a huge snowball effect. The choices we make determine whether it's a positive or negative snowball.

I have found that my attitude has a lot to do with my effort. If I believe what I'm doing is pointless, rarely will I give it my all. But I can see a method to the madness and know, without a doubt, that what I'm doing will mean something, then there's nothing I won't do to make it happen.

In therapy, there were lots of times I sabotoged myself. I might be given an assignment or asked to work on something and I wouldn't do it. I didn't believe that if I did it, it would work or make a difference, so I blew it off. And then when I was asked about it, I lied.

This was a mistake.

It meant that I didn't often progress as much as I might have otherwise, and it also meant that the cycles I wanted very much to break, continued to perpetuate themselves.

Why didn't I do some of these things?

They didn't seem "big" enough to make a difference. I couldn't see how making one small change in my behavior could contribute to the big, dramatic changes I was seeking.

But I missed the forrest for the trees.

By looking only at the big picture, I missed the details.

In therapy, I had to learn to trust what I was being told. I had to accept that I didn't know best and I certainly didn't know it all. If I wanted to get better, I had to do what I was being asked to do and trust that it was the right thing.

This is hard. In many cases I didn't see how what I was being asked to do was indeed the right thing. In fact, hindsight has been the number one element of clarification. As time passes, I can look back on what I was asked to do and see how those things, step by step, helped me to change.

So when you feel like you're jumping in place and what you're being asked to do is trivial or insignificant and pointless, realize it probably isn't. Just because you can't see a higher purpose for it doesn't mean there isn't one.

Trust your therapist to lead you down the right path. Their education and experience will only go so far if you won't lend your cooperation and effort to the process.

Do I think cheering my head off at a sporting event makes a difference?

I don't know. But do I risk not doing it and accepting the loss?

I can't. I clap and cheer "just in case".

Recovery requires the same faith. What can surrendering yourself to recovery hurt? What do you have to lose?

tags: attitude, effort, faith, recovery, self-injury, treatment, trust

One of the scariest yet most exhilarating experiences of my life was rock climbing aboard a cruise ship somewhere between Belize and the Cayman Islands. Even though I was securly harnessed and someone below me watched my every step, on the wall, it was only my mind, my body and ocean air. If I took my eyes off the wall, there was nothing but water for as far as the eye could see. Above me, clear blue sky. Below, WAY below it seemed, were other people and my friends but I could never look down long enough to find any face I recognized.

If I was going to scale this wall without falling off, it was up to me. Period.

I'd always wanted to try rock climbing but didn't trust myself enough to find the right holes for my hands and I'm certainly not strong enough to pull myself over ridges with my fingertips. But on a rock wall, there are footholds, and so the trick wasn't finding a hole, but picking one close enough to you that you could balance on long enough to reach up to the next level.

I think there's a huge similarity between rock climbing and recovery. In recovery, there are built in "rocks". Therapy. Treatment programs. Small groups. Hotlines. Accountability partners. These are the footholds that will allow someone to literally drag themselves out of the metaphorical hole they have dug for themselves. These "rocks" are constants. They don't change or have any ability to get you off course. If you "fall off" the "wall", it's your own fault.

Therapists are like the belay in the recovery process. You are tethered to them and trust them to shout up at you what your next step should be. Because they are not on the "wall" with you, their perspective is different and often times they are able to see things or opportunities your short-sightedness may miss.

Treatment is an uphill process. For every step up a person takes, ten more wait to be taken. And just like in rock climbing, sometimes the top of the ridge isn't readily visible on the "wall". There is a lip, an outcropping of rock that must be transversed before you reach the top. Often times this is the most challenging and dangerous part of the climb because you are literally climbing blind. You can't see over the lip and can't be sure you aren't putting your hand in a snake hole or something, but you have to do it, snake hole or not, and pray that once you make it over, you will have reached the top.

The problems you had at the bottom of the wall don't seem so big once you've made it to the top because now YOUR perspective has changed. There is so much distance between you and the person on the ground that you can't hear what they're saying and you are forced to rely on them less because now you realize that it's you, all you. It always was, but up until now you didn't realize it.

Making it to the top of the climbing wall is exhilarating. The view from the top of my wall on the cruise ship is something I will never forget. There was nothing obstructing my vision and the only sound I could hear was that of birds. I could see the swimming pool and people in it, but heard nothing. I saw the crowd below but understood that they were merely observers in my climb, not factors in my success.

In the beginning, I wanted to quit. The wall was very high, the ship was moving, and I didn't want to embarrass myself in front of people I didn't know.

But I wanted to know I was strong enough to complete this task and so I did it. I strapped on my helmet, secured my harness and placed my hands and then a foot on the bottom of the wall. Move hand. Move foot. Move other hand. Move other foot. It became a mantra. "I can do this!", "I can do this!", "I can't do this!"

And I did.

In retrospect it's not that big of a deal. Compared to the rock walls at indoor climbing gyms I'm sure the wall I scaled is only half their size.

But to me, size was irrelevant. It was the process and the achievement of a goal that imprinted this experience in my mind.

How many people in my life have I had urging me to "climb the wall" of recovery and I didn't listen? How many times did I want to put my foot on that first rock and then chicken out because it looked too hard or too complicated?

Here's what I know. NO ONE put me on that wall. I had to go out of my way to find out and tell someone I wanted to climb. There wasn't a therapist in my area who specialized in self-injury so I did the next best thing and actively sought out someone who specialized in eating disorders.

I'd found my first rock.

With every session with her I completed, I placed my foot on another rock. With every month, year that passed by, injury or no, I managed to pull myself up one more level.

Were there times I wanted to literally throw myself off the "wall"?

Absolutely.

But my therapist, my small group, my medication, my accountability partner, were designed to be the constants in my life and although they often talked me off the ledge, they encouraged me to cling to the wall and climb.

I was on my recovery wall for years. One step at a time. One rock at a time.

But I made it.

Finding a foothold isn't easy, but necessary. Don't wait for someone to intervene on your behalf or solicit your help in your own recovery. Demand that for yourself. You're worth it.

I have a picture in my home of me mid-step going up that wall. My face is red, my legs and stretched between two rock outcroppings that are nowhere near each other and my grip is firm. I am determined. I am confident. And in the end, I was successful.

I believe others can be as well. Strap on that helmet. Secure your harness and reach for the wall.

It may be the hardest and most emotional thing you ever do, but the view from the top is worth every step.

tags: recovery, self-advocacy, self-injury, treatment

I was asked this week about why it took me so many years (decades really) to finally open up about my self-injury to my therapists. If I trusted them, the person said, how could I deprive them of this critical part of my life and then accuse them of not being able to help me?

In a nutshell, my therapists weren't ready for what I needed to tell them.

How do I know?

I tested them.

Exposing myself as a self-injurer was like confessing a crime. The ramifications were so great, that I knew once I breeched this issue, my life would never be the same. I had to be sure that once I made this revelation, it was with someone who could be with me for the long-haul, who had the right experience to help me and could guide me through the next stage of my treatment process successfully.

My first therapist was my minister at church.

No help there. Plenty of "If you pray, God will hear you", but that hadn't been my experience and so I ended our sessions pretty quickly.

My second therapist was someone who agreed to see me pro bono through the ministerial counseling service. Great guy and someone I still speak with, but at the time, he was brand new to counseling, I was brand new to telling someone about my personal problems and so I limited what we spoke about. He knew my family and I was so afraid of telling him something and having it "get out" that I never said a word in years of meeting with him. He was quite comfortable with control issues and the eating disorder and so there's where we lived for the duration.

My third therapist was a graduate student at Texas Tech. The student counseling services offered 10 free sessions unless you were hand-selected for more (I was) and he and I spent all of our time talking about perfectionism, anorexia and the tremendous amount of pressure I was under (of my own volition) to graduate early (which I did). I tried to trust him with more by saying things like, "Sometimes I get so angry I could put my hand through a wall."

His response?

A blank stare.

I had stepped into a new chasm of inexperience and it scared him to death.

I never mentioned it again and if I remember correctly, self-injured right after our session for being so stupid as to think that someone else might be able to help me.

My third therapist was another post-graduate student in graduate school. She was a fine lady, working on her doctorate, and again someone who agreed to see me for free, for 10 sessions. After 10 I asked to see her for more and she remained my therapist until I graduated.

Older and more confident in the age/wisdom connection, I tested her too. "Have you ever heard of anyone being so mad they hurt themselves?"

I had imagined this scenario a thousand times and desperately looked for any signs in her face or eyes that would resound with recognition, affirmation or understanding.

Nothing. Complete deer in the headlights, again.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Oh, nothing. As you know I'm studying anger for my thesis and come to find out, some people hurt themselves when they're mad. Have you ever heard of that before? I hadn't."

Her relief was palpable.

"I've heard of that, yes, but never worked with anyone who did that. It must be pretty rare."

My secret was still safe and my feelings secured that I was a freak, a crazy person, someone who could never ever tell about this part of myself if I wanted to remain out in society.

Ten years or more would pass before I would test my therapist again. We'd exhausted the eating disorder aspect and I was feeling a tremendous sense of urgency to address the self-injury, even if it meant being locked away forever.

I don't remember how it came up, but I was the one who brought it up, again. I may have written about it or made a comment in passing, but this therapist picked up on what I said and responded in a new way.

I tested her. In our first meeting, I shared with her some of the games I'd played with my other therapists. I'd go to a certain point in my sessions and when things got too personal, too hard, I quit going. I never went back. And things would spiral out of control and I would start all over again with a new person. I'd repeated this cycle several times because no one had the courage to help me with the issue I needed help with the most---my self-injury.

I dared her to help me. I challenged her to get me to keep coming to her even when I wanted to quit.

She accepted that challenge and she was my therapist for more than ten years.

Before me I don't think she'd ever worked with another self-injurer. Like most of my therapists, SI wasn't a part of their professional training. But I needed her to understand and did what I could to help get her the right information.

I think this is important for people to know. A person with SI won't disclose to just anyone, therapist or not. I knew what my therapists were comfortable with, what they could handle, what they were prepared to deal with. SI wasn't it and so I kept that part of myself hidden.

This was a nearly fatal mistake.

I didn't want my therapists to be uncomfortable or to put them in a position of not being able to help me, so I censored what I shared.

They ended our sessions feeling affirmed, I left with a renewed sense of despair and a stronger conviction to injure.

Be ready for the test. If someone is considering you for disclosure, the reaction to their test is critical. If you act surprised, disgusted, repulsed or freaked out, you've failed the test.

Did my therapists help me?

In ways they didn't expect.

They helped to keep me alive. They helped to keep me focused enough on my goals that I wouldn't throw my life away. By having regular appointments, I was accountable to be somewhere, in one piece. Knowing someone wanted to see me dictated sometimes where I could injure and how severe the injuries could be.

But did they help me with SI? Only one of them did and she came into my life decades after my journey started.

It shouldn't have been this way and this fact propels me to share more about my treatment story.

If someone is to disclose to me, anything, I have to be ready. I have to be in an emotional place ready to receive what they tell me and to help them.

I'm testing you. Are you ready?

tags: cutting, disclosure, eating disorder, recovery, self-injury, therapist, treatment

At a conference yesterday, I was asked about my routine as an injurer. I certainly had one. This was my most private of times alone. The door was locked and deadbolted (I even locked the bathroom door "just in case") and the phone was unplugged. The blinds were closed. The lights in the main part of my apartment, off.

For all practical purposes, Vanessa, as the world knew her to be, wasn't home.

But the further I continued on ito the recovery process, my routine was disrupted. The biggest interruption?

Giving up my tools.

I wasn't the kind of person to rush right out and get new tools. The tools I had were sacred to me and I'd had them for many years. To go out and get new ones almost invalidated the importance of the old ones. In my mind, this would be like having a pet die and then going out to get a new one that same day. It didn't work like that. The physical loss of my tools prompted an emotional death that I had to deal with, fully.

Not having my tools readily available certainly interrupted my routine. But necessarily in the obvious ways. I might not have had the tools to cut, but I could still hit, still bruise, still break.

Was my disorder defined by my tools?

No.

It was shaped by them.

Big difference?

Absolutely.

I found out I injured with what I had at the time. I didn't stop injuring right away just because my "tools" were gone.

Why?

I was still here. I was the biggest instrument in the self-injury cycle.

This was an important discovery and one that changed the way I saw my behavior. If I was such a big part of the process and could exercise control over how much I allowed myself to have access to or do, then I could interrupt the cycle even further.

I needed to do this in order to progress in my recovery.

For example. If I had a stressful day or an emotional conversation with someone, my first inclination was to go home and release my feelings through self-injury.

But since I never injured anywhere but at my own home, if I wasn't home, I couldn't injure.

It took a tremendous amount of discipline, but on these occasions, I wouldn't allow myself to go home.

On one particular occasion, I was so distraught and knew if I was home for any length of time alone what that would mean, that I forced myself to spend the night in a hotel. Can you believe it? I paid money to spend the night in a hotel in my own neighborhood.

Why?

Because there I was safe. There were no tools, no immediate temptations.

The urges were so strong that I could not trust myself to go home.

There was no one around to intervene on my behalf so I had to do it for myself.

It was the best decision I could have made.

There I was, alone, in a hotel room, wrestling with my demons.

And for that one night, I won.

One of the darkest and most painful nights of my life and I didn't injure.

Sometimes it takes drastic action to make drastic change. That night I learned that I was stronger than I thought I was and realized how commited I was to stopping the cycle of self-injury.

I thought for sure once I left the confines of that hotel room the next day I would leave work and go home to injure.

But I didn't.

Did I ever injure again?

Yes, but several days passed before I did.

A moment of weakness?

Maybe.

I think that night in the hotel gave me an artificial sense of control and stopping power.

But it was a step in a long road to recovery.

Sometimes the only way to break the cycle is to literally interrupt the chain of events, therefore changing the outcome.

It's amazing what a person will do when they are in recovery. I have heard alcoholics and drug addicts speak about the extremes they have gone through just to stay clean or to try and avoid taking one more hit.

I understand where they're coming from.

If there is no one around to save you from yourself, sometimes you have to do it anyway.

If I had the power to hurt myself, then I also had the power to heal myself.

Both words have 4 letters, but the difference in their meaning is tremendous.

By taking a risk and daring to break my routine, I have managed to achieve more than 33 months of being injury free.

Definately worth the cost of a hotel room, right?

tags: blunt force trauma, control issues, cutting, recovery, ritualized behavior, self-injury cycle

I've always found it interesting how people relate to one another. As humans, we are not solitary creatures. Even individuals who pride themselves on being "loners", usually have friends, other "loners" they hang out with.

Fashion trends are started by someone trying to break the mold and create their own style, and invariably it is copied by someone else, and this ruins the "unique" element of their fashion message.

Everyone wants to stand out, to be recognized and celebrated for their unique talents.

But at the end of the day, few of us want to be alone.

How does one remain unique while at the same time being a part (even if it's only a physical presence) of a crowd?

I would say I have been kidding myself about believing I was the only one who self-injured, but I assure you this is true. The things I have thought and done have, even to me, been so bizarre, to imagine anyone else doing them is a stretch.

But the more I speak out, the more I know I am not alone, and this fact gives me some sense of commraderie. If I'm not the only one, then I can't be as crazy as I feel sometimes.

If there are others like me, then I don't have to struggle in isolation.

There's strength in numbers.

The battle seems easier to win if I believe I'm not the only one in the trenches.

I may not be able to see you or hear you, but I can read your words and get strength from the messages I am sent.

So much of life is a personal struggle. Everyone has their own, and few have time to help others with theirs.

How many times have I offered to be there for another person only to realize I didn't have the strength to live up to that offer?

But it goes both ways.

The offer of help is usually a polite one. Few truly mean what they say and I know it. People offer to be there for me, "night or day", but I know in their hearts they're praying I won't call and I don't.

But the offer was expected, it was made, we're square.

I know they care, they feel good because they've shown they care, but that's all. Both of us know that I won't allow myself to be that vulnerable in their eyes and they won't have a chance to feel like a hero, comforting me at three in the morning as I try to pry myself away from the abyss.

Interesting, the games people play.

But in order to be strong, there have to people you really can call at three in the morning and I am blessed to have a couple of those.

Sometimes reassurance is all you need to stand up one more time.

Today, I have that reassurance from other people. I know I am not alone. I know I am not crazy. I know others can benefit from my story if I am willing to share it.

If we're all in this together, what have we got to lose?

tags: compassion, friendship, hope, optimism, recovery, self-injury, treatment

I got an interesting question yesterday.

"If you could tell people one thing about self-injury, what would it be?"

I thought a lot about my answer.

I want to spread a message of hope, so is that what I say? Hope for recovery?

No.

Do I say control?

There is a tremendous amount of control (perceived and not) with this disorder. Is that what I say?

No.

I think if I were to tell people one thing about self-injury it would be power.

Only those who self-injure can understand how powerful this disorder is. For myself, it has literally been like living with another entity in my mind and body.

This disorder has the power to make me do things few people can to my own body.

This disorder has the power to make me second-guess everything I say and do and break it down into the minutest of details, analyzing for mistakes, errors in judgement and communication breakdowns.

In the end, this disorder has the power to take over a person's life and given the right set of circumstances, take it from them.

Someone may counter my statements with an arguement that many disorders are this way.

That's true. But unlike other disorders, the addictive element isn't a foreign agent like drugs or alcohol, it's the pain endorphins in my own body.

If I am addicted to anything, on a very base level, I am addicted to myself.

So, unlike other disorders where recovery can "take away" the source of the addiction, with self-injury, this isn't possible. The triggers can be minimized, the behaviors altered, but the source of the pain and addiction is always with you.

How is it possible to turn off the power that self-injury possesses without turning off your mind? What decreases the urges, the thoughts, the planning?

For a self-injurer, recovering or not, it's constant.

Self-injury has made me feel very powerful at times because I was in control of how long I hurt and how I hurt.

But that isn't the power I'm writing about.

I'm talking about a power that is so deep-seated, that it literally all-consuming sometimes.

Anything that has the power to make you think the only way you can feel better is to bleed is incredible.

I don't know where it comes from and I don't know how to fully get rid of it.

But I know the power remains. That's what I want people who are learning about self-injury to know. Once that pain/emotional release connection is made, it's hard to turn back.

I feel the power of this disorder each day. I wake up to it, I go to bed to it. It is never far behind me or so far away I can't grab onto it if I want to.

And THAT's the power of self-injury.

tags: cutting, recovery, self-injury, treatment, urges

I get asked a lot about the role therapy has played in both my life and recovery. People want to know if there isn't a "cure" for self-injury, what's the point in opening yourself up that way to a stranger? How much will they really be able to help anyway?

As someone who has been in and out of therapy since I was 13 years old, here's what I know: therapy is a lifesaver.

Has it "cured" me?

No.

Has it helped me to step back and evaluate things in my life with a new perspective?

Absolutely.

I think about therapy the same way I think about looking for something I've missplaced. How many times have I been running late and can't seem to find my car keys? I have a specific place where I always put them at home, but when they're not there, I'm at a loss. More often than not, the more frantic I become looking for them, the less likely I am to find them. I learned a long time ago that if there is someone else nearby, it's better to ask them, with fresh eyes, to help me look. Usually they're the one to find them and in a place I've already looked!!

Sometimes we can't see the forrest for the trees. We're in the middle of an emotional quagmire and our perspective is off. We're lost. Literally, in a maze of our own creation.

Therapy helped me to disentangle myself from things a little bit. Another person's perspective and insight was very important in some of the revelations I've come to.

Therapy has opened my mind to new possibilities. I take a lot of things personally. When I am slighted or overlooked, I jump to the conclusion that it was on purpose, or some form of passive aggressive behavior against me. Therapy has helped me to put myself in other people's positions and realize that may not be the case. This fact has changed the way I see some people in my life and impacted how I relate to them.

As I said, I started going to therapy when I was 13 once my father announced he was leaving the family. In these early sessions, I learned a lot about what an adult was supposed to do and how my role as the eldest child was changing. Therapy helped me to deal with this drastic change.

Coincidentally, my eating disorder started about this time and therapy was critically important for this aspect of my life as well. It would continue to be so until I left for college, moved, and found myself working with a new set of therapists as a navigated the balance between college, working full-time, a new relationship and my constant struggle with self-image.

In graduate school, I worked with a set of therapists still on the eating disorder and on marital issues. Being alone and dealing with an eating disorder is completely different than being married and trying to hide it.

And still years later I found myself working with another, my final therapist. She was the first and only person I've ever told about the self-injury. The shocking part? ALL of my other therapists had asked me about it, and I lied to them.

I didn't think they could handle what I had to tell them. I wasn't sure that once that "cat was out of the bag" they would look at me the same and I was so convinced that I was alone in my disorder that once I admitted to it, I would be committed and deemed unfit for any sort of career, marriage or place in society.

More than 20 years passed between my first visit with a therapist and my revelations of self-injury.

Shame kept me silent.

But I think there is another message here also. Intuition is very powerful. Of all my therapists, only my last one showed me that she was strong enough (although not knowledgeable enough) to handle what I needed to work on. I didn't bring up self-injury right away. Her specialty is eating disorders and that's the guise I used when making my appointments. She was very helpful in this area. But as time passed, our work together was impeded by my self-injury. I could no longer deny its role in my life and as my behavior increased, so did my need to address it with a professional.

Therapists have to earn their clients trust. Therapists have to demonstrate some proficiency in this area if they want their clients to open up to them about it. If there isn't that connection, then the work they can do, I believe, is limited.

But if that connection is there and the client is willing, then the secrets must be exposed. Shame cannot be the reason that self-injury is allowed to lay and wait.

I believe, 100%, that if it weren't for the work I've done with my therapists, I would be dead. I have gone through incredible periods of depression where suicide seemed like the most logical solution, and I have gone through other periods when my eating disorder was so out of control, that had I not been "forced" to check in at least once a week for monitoring, I would have starved myself to death.

It's been about four months since my last session. I imagine before too long I will find myself in their office again exploring new issues that have surfaced over the last few weeks. With new information comes new questions.

I don't want anyone to be afraid of therapy.

Is it scary?

You bet.

But the risk is worth it.

I have learned that some of my worst fears about therapy were in my mind---literally. I've never been judged as harshly as I imagined I might. And for all of the crazy stuff I've done in my life, I've never been told I should be locked up and the key thrown away.

In my opinion, therapy IS necessary. It offers the client a chance to springboard ideas off a new set of eyes and ears. It opens the door for a new perspective and a new level of understanding.

This is where growth comes from.

There are others things like medication that I believe are also necessary, but that is for another time.

In the meantime, understand the role you have in your own recovery. NO ONE has all the answers you are looking for. But sometimes we can't see the answers we have already. Therapists give us the map and tools we need to find them.

tags: coping mechanism, cutting, eating disorders, recovery, self-esteem, self-injury, therapy, treatment

I think self-injury is like a boomerang. No matter how far in the past I've left it, it always manages to come back into my life at the most inopportune moments.

Believe it or not, I haven't thought about self-injury in a day or two. I've been so busy with other things that it literally hasn't crossed my mind.

Until today.

When someone asked me about my scars.

Again.

It's true that they're fading, but they're not completely gone. I have finally reached a place in my life where I don't "see" them like I used to, so it continues to surprise me when others do.

I'm not ashamed of them. But it's hard to move on sometimes when the past continues to crop up in the present.

I wonder if there will ever be a time when I will be able to say that self-injury is 100% a thing of the past? Emotionally? Physically?

Or maybe that's an illusion.

Perhaps self-injury is as much a part of my make-up as my being left-handed is.

I want to understand self-injury and help others understand it too.

But at what price?

I continue to learn a lot about this disorder and its impact on my life. When I stopped injuring almost three years ago, I thought that was it. I underestimated the power of the urges, the rational of the inner dialogue that led me to injure in the first place, and I erroniously negated the release that self-injury provided.

I thought I could just walk away without consequence.

How short-sighted.

Just because an alcoholic goes into treatment and no longer drinks doesn't mean they aren't an alcoholic anymore. The sense of "once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic" rings true to self-injury too I'm finding out.

And like any other addiction, I believe I will always be someone who, given the right set of circumstances, could run right back into the arms of self-injury.

That's why it's imperative that I stay the course. Ignore the urges. Resist the temptation.

I'm in recovery, plain and simple.

I thought I'd be cured by now. But what is that, really?

I wonder if addicts ever miss their drug of choice? I wonder if they think about their "good 'ol days" as often as I seem to?

But the reality is the old days weren't good and hurting myself is no way to get through life.

But breaking the cycle has turned out to be a more difficult task than I first imagined it might be. The same lie of "I can stop any time I want to" seems to apply to everything from eating disorders to addictions to self-injury.

The truth was I couldn't stop at any time.

The sad part is, I didn't want to.

The reality is I had to. Had I not, I would have killed myself by accident.

Anyone who has seriously self-injured knows what I'm talking about. When the anger, fear and frustration is so great, the power those feelings create can be fatalistic.

I know what it's like to be so mad I could put my hand through a wall.

I also know that doing so doesn't take that feeling away...for long.

It's funny how my life has changed over the last many months. No longer can I use self-injury to cope.

Instead, I am coping by other means to control the urge to self-injure.

When people ask me about my scars, it reminds me of how far I've come. Most of them time I think I forget.

I've managed to leave behind a behavior that I engaged in on an almost daily basis for more than 30 years.

To expect to fully leave it behind at this point is incredibly unrealistic.

I continue to get messages from all over the place asking me "how I do it?"

And I can say is one day at a time.

Maybe I won't ever be able to leave self-injury in the past. It may forever be a part of my present because of the marks I've left on my body and people's interest in them.

I guess that's okay. I am a survivor. No one, and I mean no one leaves this world unscathed in some way.

I just happened to mark myself instead of letting the world make its mark on me.

One day, I hope to understand why.

tags: blunt force trauma, coping mechanism, cutting, recovery, self-esteem, self-injury, treatment

At some point during my speaking engagements, someone will ask if I am bipolar. I tell them no. I don't know that I've ever been tested for it and can't say I know a whole lot about it.

Until now.

I stumbled across an amazing book this week called Madness: A Biploar Life by Marya Hornbacher. Some of you may remember her award-winning memoir a few years ago called Wasted which detailed her near-death struggle with an eating disorder and alcoholism.

But I can honestly say that reading her new book has been eye opening experience for me. I've known people who were bipolar and had students who were bipolar, but never really knew what it was or what it meant to those who have it.

But through this book, I am coming to understand more about this illness and what it must be like to live life going from one extreme emotion to the other.

It's raised some questions within me for sure.

Marya spent years in and out of mental institutions and yet wasn't properly diagnosed until she was in her 20's. Amazing, isn't it? Here is someone who clearly has had a problem, yet no one seemed to be able to put their finger on what exactly the problem was. Once they did, it meant a world of difference for her.

I find myself with more questions now than answers. Is it possible to experience some of the things she describes and not be bipolar? How do you know the difference between being bipolar and having a hormone imbalance?

I have enjoyed this book because I feel like for the first time, I know more about the questions I need to ask. If I've never been tested for being bipolar, how do I know I'm not?

I don't think I am, but as every self-injurer will tell you, some of the things I have thought and done were enough to make me think I was crazy.

This book is written just as mine was, in first person stream of consciousness. You are in her head and can hear her thoughts, experience what it's like to be in her shoes. As I was reading, I couldn't help but feel honored that someone would allow their life to be an open book just so someone like me could peek inside.

She talks about cutting a lot in the beginning, and incredibly says some of the same things I expressed in my book. I continue to be amazed that someone else could feel the same way I did, especially when I have thought for most of my life that I was the ONLY person in the world who felt that way!

I'm not finished with the book yet, but I feel confident enough in what I've learned so far to write something positive about it.

I learned a long time ago never to say never. Some of the most important doors I've had to walk through were in places I could have sworn a door never existed. But as my heart was opened, my eyes was as well.

I don't know where I go from here. I have visited Marya's website and have sent her a message thanking her for her courage and expressing an interest to speak with her further. I guess now get to see if she writes me back.

But I think this book is worth reading. It has given me a lot to consider and created within me a whole new set of questions to ask.

I would love for someone else to read this book and let me know what their experience was with it. I feel like I've grown a little reading it.

tags: bipolar, cutting, depression, madness, mental illness, recovery, self-injury, treatment

I have spent my life looking for answers and insight in books. I cannot tell you how many times I have gone to the bookstore and searched for hours for a book, any book, that mentioned self-injury and might give me some understanding about what causes it and what I could do to overcome my urges. I have spent hundreds of dollars on books about eating disorders knowing that some people with eating disorders also self-injure.

And for what?

Usually nothing. If self-injury is mentioned, it is as a part of a larger behavioral issue like schizophrenia or something.

All I needed was some reassurance that I wasn't a freak. That there was someone, anyone, out in the world who was like me. This person knew about the urges and how powerful they are. And maybe, just maybe, they could tell me how to stop them.

But I never found a book like that. High anticipation that maybe "this" would be the book that answered all of my questions, and then a total letdown when I realized, after reading 200 pages, that I was still in the dark.

But today, I think I found a book that might offer me something. I don't want to say yet until I've read further and know for sure, but so far it looks promising.

I wonder if this could be the book that helps me make a connection? What if tomorrow I am aware of something that has eluded me up until now? What if? What if? What if?

For all of the answers I have, there are so many more to find. Despite letdown after letdown, I continue to hope that one day I will find something that will help me put it all together. Then, I will understand myself better and be in a position to do more with it.

I have heard from many people all over the world that my book was the "one" for them. That somehow my experiences mirrored their own in such a way that they found insight in my struggle. This humbles me.

But I find myself continuing to search. I don't have all of the answers and I feel an urgency to find them. I want to know so badly why I am the way I am. Why do I feel things so profoundly? And why do I need to hurt in order to feel better?

Everyone has answers they seek and these are some of mine. I am hoping this new book will offer me some, but for now, I cling to the possibility and take it one page at a time.

tags: answers, cutting, insight, recovery, self-injury, treatment