Self harm is more recognized now than ever. It seems to me that it used to be a secret thing, but now it is almost glamorized on websites like Instagram and tumblr. I'm not saying that everybody glamorizes it, but as a whole it is simply a fact.
It is tagged as depression, as anxiety, as hell. I'm sure that the people posting pictures of their self inflicted wounds in black and white would not wish their suffering upon anybody. That does not mean that it is not still romanticized.
Here's how it works: One sees films, read books, and listen to songs about the hells of depression, anxiety, and self harm. When they begin harming themselves, it seems as if they are in that same situation and that same atmosphere surrounds them. There is nothing more romantic than seeing yourself in a film - like you are part of the story and you are simply watching a recreation of yourself - reading a book which projects your own story. Bringing these acts into the real world creates more dimensions to the film, the story. Suddenly more people are involved and contributing to the script.
At least, that is how it was for me when I slipped into a major depression for years.
I didn't begin injuring myself because of my mental state, however - It began when I was in grade seven and was sitting in a classroom with white lights, white walls, and echoes. I found out that I didn't quite feel pain like others seemed to, and it was more about a fascination with the and with the layers of my own anatomy. It was not until years later when I used self injury to cope with my depression and anxiety, and felt that romantic dissociation. I remember the everything as if it were laid out in a script, and as if I were merely watching it from deep within my mind.
I have scars, and they tell a story - a romantic story, which I may replay in my head whenever I please. A story involving tears, anger, hospitals, stitches, institutions, and fear.
Now that my hell is over (thanks to the right medication and a lot of hard work) I still scratch at my hands - my arms - my face. I bite my hands. It's back to the way it was before I even knew what depression or self harm was. It's back to being a morbid fascination, a stim. It now has more to do with Aspergers and sensory issues than with anything else.
I am free from the hell that I once fell into, but I will never truly be free from self inflicted injury.