Self harm, and the quiet battle no one sees

The quiet, desperate fight to stay alive when you're overwhelmed by emotional pain — and how connection, not isolation, is what makes that fight bearable.

I’m really struggling this week with feelings of fear, doubt, and overwhelm.

Like, “I wanna go back to Mom and Dad’s and just hide in my old bedroom” levels of overwhelm.

I’m really afraid that I’m taking on too much… that I don’t know what I’m doing… and that despite my best efforts, I’m only going to disappoint everybody who’s relying on me.

I feel like maybe, because I’ve given up on so many things in the past… I’m scared that I’m going to give up on everything I’m working on, now… and if I do that, I’ll lose this sense of purpose and direction that I’m just barely starting to find.

I feel like I need to withdraw, and hide all these scary feelings from everybody around me, so that I don’t get any on them.

I feel like I should just give up now, before these feelings get so big and out of control that I can’t stop myself from doing anything stupid.

I don’t want to give up, though. I want to rise above.

But I’m scared that I don’t have what it takes to push through.

What I’m afraid to admit

I’m so scared, I’m thinking about cutting my wrists.

Ninety-five percent of me knows that’s the wrong approach; that hurting myself won’t solve anything. But that other five percent just hurts so badly, I just want some way to let the hurt out.

The good news is I know I’m not actually suicidal. (But wait — didn’t I just say I want to cut my wrists open?)

I don’t know what the clinical term for it is… but I know I don’t have any real desire to die.

I don’t want to end my life.

I do want relief from this all-encompassing pain, and the never-ending feeling of despair that comes with it.

And somewhere, my mind thinks I might find relief in self-harm. Like somehow if I’m the one inflicting the pain, that gives me some control over it? Like by cutting myself I get to decide where it hurts, when it hurts, and how much it hurts? Just for that one brief moment, obviously… but that one brief moment would feel so nice right now…

It’s like I want to somehow use self-harm productively — like if I could make it a “safety release valve” for my suffering, or something like that.

I know it’s not a smart idea. I know it’s not healthy.

I know it’s not truly a safe way to manage all my pain…

But if it would bring even temporary relief… it might almost be worth it, just to have a few minutes where my mind is not consumed by these dark and heavy thoughts.

I’m not going to do it, by the way.

I don’t have an actual plan (or desire) to cut myself; it just feels like it could be a way to put me in control of my pain, and my scary thoughts, and all the things that normally would feel like “this is controlling me…”

And I absolutely do not want to die! I just want that to be clear, right now. I’m not glorifying or romanticizing the idea of self-harm.

I am bringing to light, some very serious struggles that I’m ashamed to talk about publicly. That I’m embarrassed to own up to. That I wish would just go away… but that I’ve fought with in one way or another, for most of my adult life.

Where it all began

There have been times, before, when I’m pretty sure I was suicidal.

One of the earliest times was before I hit puberty, on a family trip to Waikiki. As the fifth of six children in a home where both parents worked full-time, I seldom got all the attention I wanted.

And as a young boy, I misread that and I convinced myself that, if Mom and Dad weren’t giving me attention, it could only be because they didn’t want me. I know, today, that’s not true. I know because of the conversations I’ve had with Mom and Dad about feeling unwanted.

I know I’m a valuable part of my extended family… and that, even though I’m unmarried, and childless… my impact reaches into not only the lives of my siblings and my nephews and nieces… but even into the lives of my nephew’s and niece’s children… my “grand-nieces and grand-nephews,” if you will…

I know I’m important and that I’ve added value to the family. And I know the bonds are there because I feel it every time I text one of my brothers or sisters… and every time I get to see a niece or nephew…

Or when I get to hold their babies, or hunt for dinosaurs with their four-year-old, or hear all about Iron Man and Spider-Man from their eight-year-old. (I miss those little guys the most, by the way…)

I don’t want to hurt my family. I don’t want to leave them. I don’t want any of them to be disappointed in me, or to wonder why I gave up the fight.

I’m still here for a reason

I don’t want to give up the fight — I just want to figure out (if I can) how to stop getting knocked down all the time, and start stringing more of the small victories together, until I can see that even with my struggles and my disabilities, I’m still adding value to the world around me…

And I still have a job to do, despite the darkness that surrounds me, and tells me constantly that it’s all hopeless, that I’m unqualified, and that I’ll never succeed at any of my goals and it’d be better for me and for everyone around me if I’d just quit trying so hard and worrying so much…

And just accept that there’s not a damn thing I can do to help anybody…

Because most days, I can’t even figure out how to help myself…

That’s where I’m at, right now. That’s what I’m afraid to tell you.

That’s what I don’t want anybody to know about my life.

It hurts so much and it feels so overpowering. And I don’t feel like I have any skills, knowledge, or experience, in how to deal with these feelings, because I’ve purposely spent so many years fighting to avoid them all… to hide from all the pain…

To keep myself numb, isolated, and withdrawn, so that the pain of caring about another person, and wanting to get involved in their life, hoping to help them succeed…

So that, that exact pain can never find me… because I’d be so closed off from the world and so disconnected that I wouldn’t be able to feel anything, anymore…

And maybe, if I could cut myself off from all of my feelings, then I could finally feel safe again…

And finally feel like nothing can hurt me, and nothing can bring me down, and nothing can make me feel so afraid, that the only thing I can think or even want to do is to cause myself more pain…

All in some strange attempt to gain control over it all through some secret, horrible act, that only leaves me more alone, more afraid, more frustrated, more overwhelmed…

And more convinced than ever, that things are never going to change for me, and that it’s all my fault, because I’m intentionally making the choices that keep me stuck, that add to the hurt, that tell me I can’t succeed…

I don’t wanna give up — I just don’t know where to begin

But I’m not trying to fail, anymore. I don’t want to go through life, afraid and alone, and disconnected. I don’t want to feel like I have to stay locked inside my apartment, because it’s the only place on the planet anymore where I always feel safe.

Kudos though, to the fact that I can be in my apartment and feel safe!

I never used to feel safe anywhere… so to have a safe, quiet, peaceful, secure, home… that’s a huge improvement over where I used to be… but it’s still not where I want my story to end.

I don’t feel like I’m fit for modern society, though.

I think that might be part of why I always wanna keep to myself.

But I think the underlying fear and apprehension that accompanies all my other shortcomings is what makes me wanna curl up in a ball and cry, and look at my front door, and want to step outside… and not be able to take that physical step.

Not being able to take that step makes me feel like I’m a failure. And I don’t know why, exactly, but it’s like I’m conditioned to believe that failure is eternal, somehow? Like it’s not actually possible to recover… or to learn… or to change, or grow, or any of those things.

If I fail, I’m a failure for life. I got scared when my ship deployed to the Gulf at the start of Operation Iraqi Freedom. (Can you believe it, ladies and gentlemen? A United States sailor was afraid that, by going to war, I might die… the nerve…)

But I got scared on that deployment… and for 22 years, because of that fear, I’ve been calling myself a coward.

I’ve been letting my moments define my character… and my moments have not been good. I have not done things with my life, that I can be proud of. I’ve made horrible life choices all in the name of avoiding the pain of past regrets.

I’ve allowed my life to be shaped, and guided, by fear, anxiety, anger, depression, grief, heartbreak, shame, frustration, confusion, and overwhelm.

I’ve tried — unsuccessfully, I might add — to run from every one of these “negative” feelings… because I grew up believing that these feelings are bad, that they’re undesirable, that they only make us do bad things, that they get in the way of “being happy” and finding success.

And so, of course, the more I’ve tried to hide from it all, the bigger and more out of control it all becomes.

Until I’m sitting on the couch, watching Netflix, and imagining what it might feel like to walk into the kitchen, grab a knife, and cut one wrist.

Not to end things. Not to die. Not to suffer.

But to feel.

To finally be brave enough (yes, I know how dark and twisted that sounds.) But… to finally be brave enough, to allow myself to experience pain. To feel it. To guide it. To pretend like I’m in control of it, and I know where it begins and where it will end.

To show myself that I can handle pain… I can handle being hurt… being frustrated… being angry… being overwhelmed…

That I don’t have to withdraw into my safe space where nothing can get to me.

And maybe, so that I’ll finally have visible, verifiable proof, of exactly how much pain I’m really in… and how much I really need the world to notice me, and for just one person to care.

I want to stay! But I’m still learning how

I don’t want to go on feeling this same way. But I don’t think I can break free from it all on my own. I think I need help. I need more connections. More reasons to stay in the fight, instead of throwing in the towel.

I need to know I’m not in this alone, anymore. And that no matter what happens, I’ve got friends I can count on to help me through.

That doesn’t mean the darkness goes away. It doesn’t mean I stop feeling overwhelmed, or broken, or scared out of my mind.

But it does give me something to hold onto when the pain starts to rise. It reminds me that even when I don’t trust myself… I can borrow someone else’s hope.

I don’t have to keep trying to prove I’m “strong enough” to handle this all on my own. (Because, spoiler: I’m not. None of us really are.)

While I’m writing this, though… it’s making me feel like maybe — just maybe — the fight to stay alive is one I don’t have to fight alone.

And maybe ‘alone’ is half the reason I feel so overwhelmed, in the first place.

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When the pain feels too big

What to reach for when you want to stay — but don’t know how.

1. Name what’s real — without judgment

You don’t need to sugarcoat the truth to survive it.

If you feel like giving up, say so. If the urge to self-harm is loud, name it. If you feel shame, speak it out loud — even just to yourself.

Try this:
Write one sentence that scares you. Start with:

“What I’m afraid to admit is…”

Even a single honest sentence can give the pain a little less room to grow.

2. Don’t fight the pain alone

This one cannot be stressed enough:

Pain isolates. Shame convinces you that you have to deal with it in silence. But pain loses some of its power when it’s shared.

Try this:

Text a trusted friend and say:

“Hey. I’m not okay right now. I don’t need you to fix it — I just don’t want to be alone in it.”

Or send them this newsletter, and say, “This is what I feel but don’t know how to tell anybody.”

3. Give the urge a shape — without feeding it

Sometimes the urge to hurt yourself is really just a need for release. You want to feel something, or stop feeling everything.

That’s not evil. That’s human.

Try this instead:

• Grab a marker or red pen and draw where it hurts. No knives. Just expression.

• Hold ice cubes. Scream into a pillow. Go primal, not permanent.

• Put your hand on your heart and say: “I see how much pain you’re in. I won’t punish you for it.”

4. Let yourself be loved — even if you feel unworthy

The most dangerous thing about pain is that it convinces you you’re unworthy of being seen. But connection is what makes pain survivable.

Try this:

Make a short list titled:

“People I Can Text If I Need to Stay.”

Even if it’s one name. Even if it’s a stranger in a support group. Keep it nearby.

You don’t have to feel worthy of love to receive it. You just have to be willing to stay.

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Self-reflection: staying with the pain

These questions are for when the weight feels unbearable, but you know you want to stay.

1. Name what hurts

What are you afraid to admit out loud right now?

Start small if you have to. But be honest. You’re not here to impress anyone — you’re here to stay alive.

Write your answer.

2. Listen to the pain

What does the pain actually want from you?

Not what it tells you to do — but what it’s trying to express. What is the pain asking for?

Write your answer.

3. Let yourself be seen

Who would you want by your side if you let yourself be fully seen?

Is there someone who might not fix it… but would simply stay?

Write your answer.

4. Interrupt the spiral

What’s one thing you could do to interrupt the spiral — without hurting yourself?

List anything: a gesture, a sentence, a scream, a memory, a texture, a safe object. Something that grounds you. Even a little.

Write your answer.

5. Borrow someone’s hope

If you could believe — just for today — that you're not in this alone… how might that change the story you're telling yourself?

Not forever. Just today.

Write your answer.

You don’t have to feel strong to stay. You just have to remember you’re not alone.

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Final Thought

Some days, the weight of it all feels unbearable.

The fear. The shame. The feeling that no matter how hard you try, you’re still falling short — still one step away from giving up completely.

And when those thoughts come, it’s easy to believe they say something permanent about who you are.

But they don’t.

The pain doesn’t mean you’re broken. The fear doesn’t mean you’ve failed.

It means you’re human — and that you’re feeling things most people spend their lives trying to avoid.

Staying doesn’t always look brave. Sometimes it looks like crying on the couch.

Sometimes it looks like canceling plans.

Sometimes it looks like texting a friend and saying, “I don’t think I can do this today.”

It can feel so hard, in those times, to make the choice to reach out for help — to make the choice to stay.

But every time you choose to stay, you are pushing back against the lie that says you’re alone, or unworthy, or too far gone.

You’re not alone.

You’re not unworthy.

You’re not too far gone.

You’re still here.

And that matters more than you know.