There are many types of pain, and there are therefore many types of self-injury. The most obvious one that springs to mind, of course, is cutting, but that is merely the most common outward one. For you can self-injure your heart and mind and soul just as effectively without a blade.
I think one of the questions we ask ourselves most is why? Why pick up a blade and leave our skin in shreds? Why purposefully imagine scenarios that bring you pain? Why bring up past hurts and memories and griefs in your mind and allow them to eat away at your soul? Why lash your soul again and again with the guilt of things that you've done? Why does some part of you enjoy these things? In another place I wrote a post about words and their strange compulsion in me, but that is only part of the reason I have until recently maintained a vast collection of words that bring me pain. For some small part of me delights in pain, it loves to wallow in the kind of heartbreak that has until very recently been a large part of my life. I stir up strife and drama (does that surprise you? I'm not actually that acerbic) and let the anger and hate I've provoked shred my soul in their sharp talons.
I haven't yet figured out why I'm a masochist. It isn't "fun" or "pleasant," even if it does feel "good." I've come up with a lot of explanations, but none really explain everything about it. Perhaps it is a mix of several things, or perhaps it is none of those things at all. I do know at least that it is not uncommon, that I am not alone. That helps...somewhat, but knowing that other people have the same problems doesn't really help me solve my own.
I hate to stop here, with tears running down my cheeks and a heart full of pain that I did not desire, but I've run out of words. That, at least, answers one of the questions: Why take up a blade? Because I have no words to express the pain.
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