OH NO!!!... MY BRAIN... IT'S BROKEN

SELF HARM

Consciousness is a strange thing. Before I began this piece, I'll be frank with you, I intended on simply discussing the woes, trials and tribulations in the intriguing tale of the Six of Crows. An elaborate book that delves into the very ashes of street smarts and pure skill born from raw determination to survive, however, I decided against it... for now. Instead I opted for a much more uncomfortable choice which is an entirely different book with an entirely different theme in mind, self harm. Now, those who have followed my ramblings for a time beyond the present would know that I do not in fact hope to seek or gain any satisfaction from speaking on that which I know nothing of, which of course compels me to expand on the first word I mentioned, consciousness. As a little girl, and I am not suggesting this is the case for everyone, I experienced what I had discovered only recently was a state of consciousness. Awareness if you will which is nowhere near as profound as the great scientists or philosophers of old but definitely enough to make me think deeply. Moments in memory when I would pause in the process of performing an activity and I would suddenly realize that I am truly alive, breathing and moving in command to a squishy organ residing in a skull that more than half the time goes unnoticed and unappreciated. Then, and many times presently, I felt this, both in the mental and spiritual sense. It was the recognition that my body felt things and because it would never again feel another in the exact same way in the same exact space and time.

Fascinatingly nerve wracking isn't it? How tomorrow casually runs away from us leaving nothing but images and senses that we mostly rely on the aforementioned organ to testify its occurance at some point in our lives. Why? Because we felt it, because it matters. As outstanding and awe-inspiring as the knowledge is, it is not the point I hope to make. It simply leads me to admit to you one fact which is that even though I marvel at the awareness of life and sensitivity, I do not by any means enjoy pain. Well, you cannot possibly assume this statement to be the entire truth. Come now, you must know to take my words with a grain of salt as I am but a child, a teenager barely weaned in the over flowing river of milk that is life. Stick with me on this one. There are actions that cause pain, pain which in some circumstances, can be seen as desirable. Like the slight tingling pain you get when you itch a mosquito bite, or the one you get when you peel off a scab from a wound that hasn't properly healed yet, or when you work out and keep at it because the ache is evidence of attaining a toned figure. Sayings like "Beauty is pain", show that it isn't always that bad or unintentional, hence, it is true that it is at some level or degree enjoyable to nearly every being that walks the surface of the earth.

Now that we've gotten that admission out of the way, I would say it is common knowledge that as much as pain can be desirable, it can also be (if not more so), and is usually, undesirable. I am unable to speak for you, dear reader, but I am quite sure that where I am concerned, I absolutely loathe pain, particularly when it is unnecessary. Like being punched or stabbed or smacked, sometimes even something smaller like a deep cut or a bruise or a burn or a scald. I believe loathing is too strong an emotion to feel for something that is merely temporary, but yes, I do find it to be greatly unpleasant, as I am sure almost all people do. Note my use of ''almost", meaning there are individuals, much more than is let on, that I will not say necessarily enjoy pain but gain some sort of satisfaction from it, be it physically or mentally.

Finally, this brings me to the book I mentioned earlier. This book I read a few years ago, was not memorable enough for me to recall its title but was indeed enough to leave an impact. It was a love story, obviously, but one of the themes that paved the way to its climax was mental health, or the lack thereof. Before one leaps into the conclusion that the heroine was insane, no she wasn't, but she had suffered such immense trauma that left her body, heart and mind scarred. She well... she had her moments. Times when she felt suffocated by the past that haunted her, triggered by memories of a horrible trauma, and in these moments, she felt so drowned, so itchy, so engulfed in the panic and horrors that threatened to swallow her whole that she cut herself to breathe. She had no respiratory issues, but somehow with each slice of the razor against her pale skin, she felt less suffocated. Covered in her own blood, she'd face the aftermath of getting rid of the pressure that clawed at her skin. Again, I do not understand this so I will make no comment, and at this juncture I am seriously questioning my reasons behind beginning this to start with, but I must say one thing and one thing only of which I am certain. Love saved her life.

Do not scoff or roll your eyes for it is true. As cheesy and cliche as it is, the answer is more often than not simply love. And sure it was a love story so evidently that would have had to save her in the end in order to ensure completion of the plot correct? Wrong. Though it was convenient, it being a romance and all, it was not necessary that love was what solved all her problems as is the case with most romance centered tales. I do believe there is a lesson to be learned from this particular predetermined story and that is, love does truly, undeniably, and irrevocably heal all wounds, especially ones we inflict on ourselves. I am not ignorant enough to leave you with a concept that it is only one who does not love oneself that harms oneself. No, I realize it is much more profound than that. It is complicated and messy and mostly as uncertain as it is uniquely personal to each person's experience, but if there is one thing that helps when navigating a maze as intricate as the labyrinth, it is having a strong foundation. Something to cling to as you make your way through the murky waters that is our minds and hearts, and as a victim (one who struggles with self harm), and a witness (one who knows one who struggles with self harm) it applies to us all.

Consequently, as one who does not struggle with it, I can say to others like myself, for instance you dear reader, you are not removed from responsibility. You are obliged to help, to love those who face this challenge, those who have become a danger to themselves which you must not allow. Why? Because you love them, because you care, because you should. We all shoot ourselves in the leg on more occasions than we realize or care to admit, unconsciously or not; we hurt our chances, finances and bodies in one way or another, this is no secret. In a way, we all self harm, just some more extremely than others but this is not right; because it is common and it happens often does not make it right. Thus, I implore you, dear reader, give and/or get help, professional help if you face it on an extreme level. Do not sit with this, do not overlook someone who faces it, be kind to yourself and others every step of the way, and know that the squishy organ must not always dictate our actions.