My deceiving protector
A STORY ABOUT WHAT IT’S LIKE TO BE TRAPPED BY THE IDEATION OF SELF-HARM AND SUICIDE
By Tiffany Benson
(Bernard Hermant / Unsplash)
Warning: Content discussed addresses suicide.
Looking back I see suicide played more of a role in my life than I realized. I was nine when my brother, who has Dissociative Identity Disorder, began to fall apart. I remember countless days of yelling, crashing, and banging noises in his room next to mine. I remember watching an episode of Extreme Makeover: Home Edition where a girl found her brother after he had hung himself. And everytime my brother slammed his bedroom door I was convinced I'd walk in one day and find him dead. Nine years old and I worried daily about keeping my brother alive.
Suicide was both terrifying and unimaginable to me. I could not comprehend someone feeling like ending it all was the best option. How do you get to that point? That nine-year-old girl would never know how to answer. She didn’t realize that the night sitting alone at the kitchen table when the voice told her to grab the knife and stab herself was the beginning of her own journey with suicide ideation.
Senior year of high school before Covid hit was the loneliest I had ever been. I felt like the oddball in every group and relationship, that I was the last choice, overlooked. I felt like I had no one. I felt empty, confused. Darkness filled the space. My head felt like a tornado of fears and my chest ached as if pins and needles were staking their claim. I’d wake up every morning and check the weather—it was always overcast. And when I went to bed, the clouds grew thicker—no moonlight could break through. When the voices in my mind got too loud I'd think, "You should hit your head on the wall." I never did, but those thoughts continually tormented me.
I practiced invalidating my experiences because I don’t have scars from cutting. I haven’t given in to my self harm thoughts. But I’m terrified every day that I will. I see a sharp object and immediately have to walk away. At what point did it become “I want to hurt myself?” Before it was always "You should" now it's "I want to?" You begin to question if you really are seeking attention—if you really want to die.
I feel another person inside of me take control. Like a parasite the thoughts latch onto my every action. It’s as if I’m watching from the outside as this leech gradually sucks out the parts of me that I like, those parts that make me Tiffany. Am I morphing into that parasite? Is this what I am now? Can I ever be the person I want to be if these intrusive thoughts dictate all I do and say?
I feel as if I’m on a rollercoaster that only gets faster as the turns grow sharper, blurring my vision till all I see is streaks of color. And then...darkness. I’m lost in my head, lost in the dark. I’m losing myself.
For the longest time I never stopped to ask why—why does this part of me want to die? Why does it believe physical pain is the solution? Sometimes it wasn’t that I wanted to die but that I didn't want to exist. If I didn't exist then all the embarrassment, all my mistakes wouldn't have happened. The people in my life would experience a little less disappointment because I wouldn’t have been there to disappoint them. Perhaps this part of me doesn’t believe I can handle the depression and anxiety. Perhaps it’s saying that I need so desperately to feel something different, that the physical pain will give me the relief I seek. Perhaps it’s convinced that physical scars are the only way anyone will believe me, the only way for me to receive validation. Because illness and pain is only real to outsiders if they can see physical symptoms right?
What was even more dangerous for me was that no one knew what was happening. I kept silent. I was afraid of being rejected or dismissed. Eventually I told someone. I hated asking for help, I didn’t want to be a burden or labeled as needy. But they listened and with their support I am finding the parts of me I lost. I’m learning that each part makes me me. I no longer see a parasite but a protector who wants what’s best for me.
I have more scars than I realized. Most of mine reside inside of me; those need stitching and care just as much as any physical cut. It's through listening and validating that I’m learning no matter what I go through, no matter the things I think, no matter my mistakes, life is messy and sometimes it's okay to simply be.
Healing can be found. It can be found when self-deprecation is turned to self-compassion. When suicide becomes less about an issue and more about the individual. When self-harm is viewed through a lens of understanding and not disapproval. When we resort to holding the lonely before defending our actions. I find that life is more worth living when my pain is given a voice and my voice is given purpose.
One size does not fit all, so listen to the silent voices. We can’t survive much longer on our own.
This piece was written and shared during the IDONTMIND Writing Workshop. Learn more about our free, nine-week course and be the first to know about the next workshop here. Visit Mental Health Connecticut’s YouTube channel for a video version of Tiffany’s story.
Tiffany Benson is currently a sophomore in college studying English Language. She is a writer through and through, and hopes to one day become a published author.
