The Collected Schizophrenias.

  • June 30, 2020

I read this collection of essays by Esmé Weijun Wang (Penguin, 2019) in our work-based book club Many Stories Matter, organised by my work colleague Helen Coop to encourage discussion about equality and diversity. These are my own notes.

Wang has a diagnosis of schizo-affective disorder and what is presented is her account of living with that diagnosis. The book’s opening two-word sentence , “Schizophrenia terrifies”, is not encouraging. The second paragraph begins “People speak of schizophrenics as though they were dead without being dead…” and goes on to cite psychoanalyst Christopher Bollas about “schizophrenic presence” as “being with [a schizophrenic] who has seemingly crossed over from the human world to the non-human environment”. Whatever that means.

A first impression is that, notwithstanding the purple prose, Wang embraces a fairly standard medical-psychiatric view of what is going on. She talks frequently about diagnostic statements by the (several) psychiatrists she has consulted – she has herself worked administering research diagnostic interviews and seems to take them at face value as disease labels. Drug names are scattered through the text. Diagnosis apparently equals prognosis, although Wang points out the disparity between her own “high functioning” and the usually expected course of schizophrenia-like illnesses.  On the other hand, there are descriptions of the abusive nature of inpatient treatment and of physical restraint. One of her psychiatrists (Dr M.) is described as suggesting her final diagnosis during an email consultation. And there is a disturbing account of a summer camp at which she and her husband, untrained and largely unsupervised, “looked after” a number of children diagnosed, along with multiple other conditions, as bipolar. All this suggests a more ambivalent relationship with the uncertain practice of psychiatry.

The complexity in this book resides in more than the ambiguity of the author’s position. There is no obvious organising principle, thematic or chronological, and even within chapters it can be difficult to follow the thread. It is surprisingly difficult to gain a detailed picture of what exactly is Wang’s personal experience of her illness and its evolution.  Scattered and uncritical references are made to Rosenhan’s discredited On being Sane in Insane Places, to the laughable film A Beautiful Mind, to the opinions of astrologers, and to the Big Pharma sponsored National Alliance on Mental Illness – as if these sources jostle with the more orthodox for explanatory influence. Passing comments about family tensions and a history of repeated self-harm are not expanded upon or integrated into the narrative. Finally there is a long derailment into describing Wang’s pursuit of psychic healing and treatment for chronic Lyme disease as solutions to the failure of conventional psychiatry.

It is difficult to know what to make of all this. Is the narrative style an intentional or performative device, aimed at representing Wang’s experiences? Or a more-or-less unselfconscious demonstration of her current way of remembering it all? Andrew Scull’s review in the Times Literary Supplement was subtitled “A fragmentary memoir of mental unrest” and that seems about right. I was left unclear how much this is a collection of essays about psychosis as opposed to being about the author’s overshadowing attempt to frame her life as somebody with psychosis. Perhaps that is at it should be: the book’s main value is to illustrate one of the dilemmas inherent in living with longstanding mental disorder – the appeal of certainty that resides in psychiatric diagnosis and treatment comes with the limitations of its purview and the disbenefits of its actual practice, while the broader search for personal and cultural meaning does not always yield useful insights or practical solutions.

Self-harm in the NHS: time for change

  • June 29, 2020

Twenty five years ago my colleague David Owens and I wrote a lament for the state of NHS responses to self-harm – noting little research investment, haphazard service provision and no evidence of central strategy. Revisiting the scene recently in an editorial for the British Journal of Psychiatry , we found little to celebrate in the way of real progress. My friend and colleague Nav Kapur wrote a riposte which was less of a counterblast and more an invitation to peer at glimmers of light at the end of the tunnel.

A recent post on the Recovery in the Bin site puts some flesh on the bones. The author sees an explanation for her experience of poor care in an intimate connection between inadequate service provision and negative attitudes among mental health professionals. This isn’t a self-centred social media rant, but a reasoned account of what it’s like to be on the receiving end as a person whose self-harm requires physical and mental healthcare.

There’s a lot of catching up to do, and three organisations should contribute:-

NHS England should invest in comprehensive outpatient follow up services for self-harm, where therapy is offered regardless of diagnosis. These services could be a part of liaison psychiatry services, since that is where most acute assessment goes on. In a recent straw poll conducted during a webinar for liaison psychiatrists, more than 80% agreed with the idea of liaison psychiatry providing such a service.

The National Institute for Health Research (NIHR) should make a strategic commitment to fund self-harm and suicide intervention research – perhaps as part of one of their themed calls. Ad hoc responses to researcher-led proposals is not driving the necessary improvement in the research evidence needed to support change.

The Royal College of Psychiatrists should campaign assertively in this area, tackling negative attitudes among its own members and lobbying for policy change, intervention research and investment in services. Alliance with the Royal Colleges of Nursing and of General Practice would bring support from the other two clinical practitioners most directly involved.

We need to move beyond words to make action on self-harm a national priority.

Social media, self-harm and suicide

  • October 30, 2019

Another missed opportunity in the Molly Russell case

There are two views of how people with mental health problems experience social media. In one view they are places where you wander alone, drawn into an immersive atmosphere of depressive messages and images – self-harm and enticement to suicide everywhere you look. In the other they offer a space where you can come out of hiding, share otherwise secret fears with peers, gain an element of support and advice.

In the former view, risk of suicide is increased by the mood lowering effect of the content and by a sort of creeping familiarity with the idea of self-harm or suicide – called sometimes desensitisation or normalisation – and greater awareness of the methods involved.  In the latter view the social or networking function creates opportunity for reducing the sense of disconnection or lack of belonging, and the sharing of detail allows some alleviation of the burdensomeness of feeling uniquely troubled 1.

The Janus-faced nature of social media is outlined in a report by Barnardo’s about young people, social media and mental health – Left to Their Own Devices. The natural conclusion is that different people are likely to be affected differently by their online experiences, and the same person may be affected differently on different occasions. Which raises the question – how to minimise risk without at the same time suppressing useful content? It’s a tricky question and one that requires (you might hope) a careful public debate involving as many interested parties as possible in coming to a solution that considers all the competing demands of the situation.

In the UK, a fair bit of this public debate has centred recently around the suicide of teenager Molly Russell, not least because her father has pressed forcibly the case for the damaging effect of social media and the need to suppress content that might (in his view definitely does) encourage suicide.

Once the case surfaced, the early signs were not encouraging for those of us looking for a wide-ranging and informed discussion. The BBC opened their coverage with an oafish interview of Steve Hatch, the MD for Facebook in Europe, by the BBC’s Media Editor Amol Rajan who, as far as I am aware, knows nothing about self-harm or suicide.

After some grandstanding political outrage by the likes of health secretary Matt Hancock the government produced a White Paper – Online Harms – that bundled encouraging self-harm or suicide with incitement to terrorist activities, dissemination of child pornography, and drug dealing in the dark web. The main direction hasn’t therefore been about self-harm and suicide prevention at all, it’s been about steps to regulate the tech giants.

The response from the principal player in this case – Facebook/Instagram – has been as dispiriting as one might expect.  After a laughable attempt to use Nick Clegg as a front man to reassure us of their good intentions, they announced earlier this year a ban on images of self-harm described as graphic or explicit – with no definition of either offered by way of clarification. Now Instagram has announced a ban on drawings or cartoons.  There’s again lack of clarity about exactly what this means; in the linked article the specific example is of text linked to an innocuous drawing.

Where is the commission-like meeting of organisations, clinicians, academics, people with personal experience, that should be leading the debate and informing the decisions? The social media companies don’t want it – they want to manage the debate and avoid swingeing statutory regulation.  The government doesn’t seem want it – they’ve had long enough to organise it if they did. The mainstream media don’t want it – they just want a story to tell, sentimental or sensational if possible. Samaritans has an interest but it’s a slow train coming.

Where are the professional bodies in all this – my own Royal College of Psychiatrists, the British Psychological Society, the Royal College of Nursing, the Health and Care Professions Council? I don’t mean where are they in offering uncontentious opinions, I mean where are they in organising the high profile, mature debate that’s needed to replace what’s going on now?  They are nowhere, and that failure of leadership is what represents the real missed opportunity.  


1 These and other ideas about risk of suicide are covered in Thomas Joiner’s book Why People Die by Suicide (Harvard UP 2005)

Down with “mental health”?

  • October 14, 2019

I was lucky, early in my career, to meet Professor Geoffrey Rose.  One of his (typical) quietly provocative remarks was that there are no categories in nature – I remember we touched on dead/alive and pregnant/not pregnant and then gave up trying to think of examples to prove him wrong. So for a long time I’ve been keen on the idea of illness or disability as being on a spectrum or continuum.

In my own field the umbrella term “mental health” has come to represent this idea – not that all mental disorders are the same but that they all share something important that makes them related to each other, belonging in the same category of illness.  Recently I’ve begun to wonder if it’s such a good way of talking.

An article in the Guardian newspaper this month highlighted a damning series of investigations by the Care Quality Commission (CQC) into the care offered by privately run mental health units. As I read to the end my eye was caught by the line of tabs at the bottom, linking to “related stories”, and particularly this first one in the row.

Really? How is the anger and dismay of let-down football fans “related” to the neglect and abuse of vulnerable and severely disabled inpatients in special units?

I have come to see some serious disadvantages to “mental health” as a catch-all.  There are several versions of an unintended but malign effect of the term – which can trivialise or distort the true nature of mental disorder.

  • Success or “recovery” stories from one part of society can overplay the likely benefits of intervention in what are essentially intractable problems, as pointed out recently by the parent of a child with autism, who wrote:  ‘These stories don’t show the child who is non-verbal, who screams and growls for hours on end and attacks his or her parents on a daily basis’…”For once I’d love to see a story that celebrated a child managing to say “drink”, rather than screaming for two hours. That’s our idea of success.”
  • When “diagnostic” labels are applied (especially following self-diagnosis) the result can be misleading and demeaning to others. Being socially awkward isn’t the same as having autism; lacking emotional equanimity isn’t the same as having bipolar disorder; being greedy isn’t the same as having bulimia.
  • Well known people “coming out” about their own mental problems may indeed be helpful.  A healthy society needs to be able to acknowledge and respond to all aspects of the lives of its individual members, and we are all better off for the brave people who have in recent years talked about their sexuality or emotional problems.  There is however a downside to the invited comparison, as there is to all celebrity endorsement – most people with mental disorders aren’t rich or creative or successful: if they are lucky they are ordinary; if unlucky then they are disabled, poor and harassed. 

I have concluded that we’d be better to drop the term “mental health” – making the effort instead to be specific about each particular problem in which we are interested.  Maybe it’s evidence of rising levels of distress or anxiety in school students, or self-harm in middle-aged men, or moderate levels of depression in people consulting their GP. With more specific use of vocabulary we can have a more meaningful discussion than we do currently about public health and health services for those struggling with emotional disorders and mental illness.  Changing how we discuss things is easier said than done, but I’m going to give it a try.

Lemn Sissay asks why

  • September 23, 2019

Lemn Sissay is a British author, poet and broadcaster. His memoir My Name is Why has just been published, and describes his life as a child in the care system from the age of 12.

The book is an important reminder of the damage an uncaring society does to young people who should be its most cherished members. It is a moving account by somebody with a special ability to communicate his personal experience, but it surely can’t be read without it reminding us of a wider picture of mistreatment: sexual abuse of children in care and the brutality of Young Offender Institutes are part of the same story and anybody who has worked in mental health will have seen its victims.

There’s another equally depressing aspect to the book, and that is the readiness of those around Sissay to attribute his emotional state and behaviour to individual characteristics rather than to try and understand him in his world. At primary school he cops for racial stereotyping as a charming lad, amiable but feckless. At home the friction with his devoutly Christian parents is attributed to his evil nature. In his teens in institutional care his uneasy rebelliousness is treated as the sort of delinquency that sees him guided to the start of what could easily have been a young adult life of crime and detention. With a history of self-harm, drug use and rule-breaking it’s a miracle he didn’t graduate to adult life with a diagnosis of personality disorder.

The degree to which we lean on personal attributes for our understanding of people is the degree to which we risk a biased neglect of their personal circumstances. Sissay gives us another reminder; the message can’t be repeated too often.

Geoffrey Boycott and domestic abuse

  • September 15, 2019

A footnote on the psychiatric “evidence”

Cricketer Geoffrey Boycott has been in the news recently, following the award of a knighthood in outgoing Prime Minister Theresa May’s honours list. The coverage has not been celebratory, with criticism of the decision focusing on Boycott’s conviction in a French court for beating up his then partner in 1998.

It’s a shabby affair, and I followed it up mainly because I wanted to understand more of the French investigatory (rather than adversarial) approach to testing evidence – described disinterestedly by Boycott as being assumed guilty unless you can prove yourself innocent. In the middle of the contemporaneous coverage of the original verdict in the Independent newspaper I came across this striking paragraph about an aspect of the case I hadn’t previously seen reported: 

The judge, Dominique Haumant-Daumas, indulged Boycott and his lawyer when they presented hours of muddled evidence from, among others, a psychiatrist who had never met the victim, Margaret Moore, 46. (He judged her, from television clips and conversations with a former husband, to be a “hysterical psychopath”.)

The case was dug up again by The Telegraph newspaper in 2015, with the assertion that “Geoffrey Boycott ‘must be knighted’ after new evidence points to his innocence over domestic abuse case.” The paper was more expansive about the nature of the psychiatric evidence:

Dr Peter Wood, a consultant forensic psychiatrist who was consulted by Boycott’s legal team, concluded that Miss Moore: “Has a diagnosable psychiatric disorder in the form of a personality disorder with hysterical and psychopathic features. It is likely that there is an additional factor, namely chronic excessive intake of alcohol, probably alcoholism…there is clear evidence of her lying on a repeated basis. She is probably a pathological liar.”

I have no idea if Theresa May thinks Boycott is innocent – after all it was only a French court in which he was tried – or whether she accepts the verdict but thinks it’s irrelevant to the award of a national honour. I don’t know anything about the psychiatric report(s) seen by the court, beyond what is quoted in the national press. What I do know is that this way of describing somebody’s personality as a mental disorder offers an uncomfortable illustration of one reason why so many people find psychiatric practice objectionable.  The roots of the diagnosis of personality disorder are in pejorative and misogynist labelling and no amount of “destigmatising” can change that. It’s time we dropped the whole idea – neither medicine nor the law would be any the poorer if we did so.

Experts by personal experience aren’t always right (guest post)

  • August 19, 2019

Professor June Andrews discusses her discomfort about advocacy based upon the questionable (but unquestioned) personal experience of individuals.

Dementia is in the news.  Stories about it could be described as fashionable.  Advocacy organisations understand the power of hearing the voice of a person who is experiencing dementia themselves, and so they are on the hunt for people, preferably famous, who can come to represent the disease.  They can be people with dementia, or the relatives of people with dementia.  At a push, they can be people who sympathise with dementia, if they are famous enough to be influential even though they don’t have a back story.

Advocates have an honourable role in the campaign of any charity to raise funds.  It’s often described as raising awareness.  But in truth, awareness is already pretty high so you can be sure the main aim is to get funding for the charity, which is often focussed on a cure.

There are two problems with this sort of representative advocacy.

Problem 1 – the unquestionable legitimacy of “personal experience”.

The press officer at the charity is not a clinician, so when someone turns up with a diagnosis, they take it on face value. The way news is curated by media editors and controllers demands tropes like “victim” or “hero” and some virtue signalling or novelty.  If the person with the diagnosis is articulate and personable, they will be good to undertake media roles for the charity. The public gets most of their information from general media, so that’s the way to let them know they need to fund a particular charity and secure a cure.  Media coverage is so relentless and fast, the representative needs to be nimble and well prepared to get the best from any opportunity that arises.

Dementia is a progressive degenerative condition, but the press officer can’t stop to ask any questions when the person is still stable, at the same level, years later.  By that time the dementia representative patient is busy and in demand for appearances world-wide.  So pervasive is the idea of “nothing about me without me” that conference organisers know they will be heavily criticised if they fail to put a person with dementia up on the platform.   The media-experienced-dementia-experienced personalities get heavily worked.  They see it as a duty and a mission, whatever it costs them. 

I have recently been alerted to the fact that any question of whether they actually have what a clinician would think of as dementia is blocked.  Dementia clinical experts are puzzled, because mild dementia is a transitional phase but these mildly affected media representatives go on for years.  If someone has been on the circuit for a long time, clinicians can with confidence say that this person is definitely not like any other dementia case.  The charity can’t afford to go anywhere near this. However odd it might seem to people who really know about dementia, the representative (who almost certainly has some other complex illness) is put up in public as just “a person with dementia”. News values demand an interesting person with dementia who is happy to be exposed in the media.  If you have one, you keep them as long as possible and are, to be honest,  grateful if they seem to survive longer than usual because it’s hard work to keep finding people with a fatal, progressive, cognitive disease and a thirst for publicity.  You invest in what you’ve got.

Any suggestion that the patient’s sense of entitlement is out of control is taboo. When organising dementia events, you may sympathise with requests for free places for people with dementia.  When they then expected travel and hotel accommodation for themselves and their partners, with a few days on either side to overcome their fatigue, organisers can’t always afford it.   My own experience is that refusal causes profound offence, and can give rise to well publicised anger and unfavourable comparisons with other conference organisers. We’d get accused of profiteering on the backs of people with dementia and failing to give voice to people with dementia.  Actually our job was not to give them voice.  It was to educate professionals about the latest research, and practical things like how to manage continence, and terminal care.   The person with dementia talking at the event was usually preaching to the converted. We had more educative value from dramatic representations of the sort of complex problems that could never be revealed in the first person account of one individual.

Problem 2 – erosion of the legitimacy of professional expertise

The second problem is related. In the environment that has been developed with the strong encouragement of the advocacy organisations, any one of these “dementia-experienced” selected representatives trumps the knowledge or experience of the rest of the world.  The individual is sanctified with an almost religious fervour, in that anything they say cannot be contradicted. Crossing them gives rise to shock and outrage.  Those who might be seen to hold heretical positions such as questioning the diagnosis or wanting to meet without a token dementia person in the room often do so secretly because to speak openly about this sort of thing can affect your funding or your job prospects.  You risk a sort of excommunication. Or you hide.

 When you’ve upset the dementia lobby, they mobilise an articulate person with dementia who goes along with their mainstream view to attack you. From experience, it is personal and vicious.  If I was earlier in my career, I believe I’d be silenced by them.  The decider is that I don’t have dementia and they do, so anything I say that they disagree with is evidence that I have no knowledge. In this way, people who have worked with hundreds of affected families and people are marginalised. One individual can say on the basis of their personal experience, with the backing of an organisation, that this is only a “so-called” expert.  Social media heats up.  It’s dangerous to come out with an alternate point of view because you’ll get attacked.

I understand fear and rage, and as a psychiatric nurse, I’ve worked with lots of that.  What offends me is the channelling of that by organisations and lobbies for their own ends, using people with dementia, patients, dementia sufferers – whatever you are allowed to call them – as a human shield. They like to imagine they have the moral high ground, but they don’t.  For them, it’s just business and the sooner we reveal that, the sooner other sorts of experts will be able to say what they know without needless anxiety.

Does using substitutes or proxies for self-harm help?

  • August 10, 2019

An intriguing recent study was done no favours by melodramatic misreporting of its findings.

Substitutes or proxies for self-harm include doing painful but non-damaging things like holding on to ice cubes or eating hot peppers.  They are quite commonly cited in advice about self-harm.  For example, when I put <How can I stop self-harm?> into a search engine recently, using substitutes came up in the advice offered by my own Royal College, by a private healthcare chain and by a 3rd sector organisation.  There’s actually very little evidence behind this advice, so it was good to see a recent study exploring the experiences of young people with such approaches.

The study had two parts: an online questionnaire to which 758 people replied, and an interview with 45 people. What were the main findings? Only 7/758 people who completed the questionnaire said they had used any of the techniques; it isn’t known why the other 99% hadn’t. In the interviews, 29 people said they’d used at least one of the techniques – some found they didn’t help at all, some found they did. 

This sort of small numbers qualitative study can’t tell us how common certain experiences are, only what the nature of such experiences might be. So the Sky News opener “Many of the techniques used to reduce self-harm do not work for most people…” could only be accurate if the sentence had finished “…because most people don’t use them”. Unfortunately that wasn’t the message being conveyed.

There’s a further twist.  In the questionnaire study 18 people, and in the interview study at least 6 people, said they had used one of the techniques (snapping an elastic band against the skin) as a means to self-harm. Now, given that one sort of harm reduction involves “strategies that aim to ensure that the same method of self-harm [AOH: in this case damaging the skin] has less medically severe consequences” this might be less of a bad thing than it sounds – elastic bands do less harm than broken glass or razor blades.  The news report (of course) took the opposite tack “The therapies could even become abusive in their own right”.

My experience is that most mental health professionals are rather sceptical about proxy or harm minimisation approaches, thinking that if they do help some people then any effect is likely to be fairly weak or transient given that they don’t tackle underlying problems. They might provide a bit of breathing space but they can’t substitute for therapy. I don’t think most will mind very much that such techniques get a poor press through this report, although we could do with some more discussion about what part they might play in selected situations. However, what they should mind is yet another example of mental health reporting being slanted by poor understanding of science and a need for dramatic headlines.

Psychiatry’s worst idea

  • August 2, 2019

Here’s a typical news story from a local paper – about a police call that led to a house search prompted by smelling cannabis.

“The search of the property unearthed two dozen plants being cultivated with a hydroponic system in a cupboard and two more in a nearby wardrobe, said Mr David Swinnerton, prosecuting. Police estimated the crop had a potential yield of over £7,000.

However it was claimed at court that […] might have been pressured into growing the drugs. Mr Thomas Griffiths, defending, said unemployed […] who had several previous convictions and had recently become a father, suffered from a personality disorder and might have been exploited by others because of his naivety.

What does it mean to say that a defendant in a case like this has a personality disorder?  Here’s the answer from the NHS website

“A person with a personality disorder thinks, feels, behaves or relates to others very differently from the average person. There are several different types of personality disorder. This page gives some information about personality disorders in general, linking to other sources for more detail.”

In other words, personality disorder is a diagnostic label attached to who you are. To my mind this is psychiatry’s worst idea – the use of diagnostic labels to describe somebody’s personality.

Here’s an edited version of what I said in my book Undertstanding and Responding to self-harm

“There are real problems with this way of thinking. First, and rather obviously, it leads to an emphasis on the individual as the source of their problems and therefore downplays the role of other people and circumstances…

…Second, the diagnosis is often experienced as a way of saying ‘the problem is about who you are as a person’ and it is widely used in a critical or dismissive way by professionals in health and social care. The person on the receiving end can easily be stigmatised and become (rightly) angry – that anger then being used as further evidence of what’s wrong with them. Not surprisingly, lots of people given this diagnosis don’t like it and don’t like the effect it has on the way others treat them.

This isn’t to say that people don’t have recognisable and enduring characteristics. We all know somebody who is particularly obsessional, prickly, paranoid or prone to emotional outbursts. Sometimes these characteristics do indeed seem important in explaining self-harm. For example, impulsivity is a tendency to act on the spur of the moment, without much thought and without consideration of the consequences. This characteristic is quite commonly associated with self-harm, especially when it is coupled with negative ways of thinking.

What isn’t right is elevating these observations into diagnostic statements – putting people into categories as if somebody’s personality is a mental disorder – which is indeed where personality disorder sits in the main diagnostic systems used worldwide.

There’s another practical problem with this ‘diagnostic’ approach to personality, which is how little use it is in explaining anything… circular reasoning is really common in practice, [for example] using repeated self-harm as part of the basis for diagnosing a personality disorder and then using the diagnosed ‘condition’ to explain the repeated self-harm.”

And that’s not to mention the observation that a “disorder” that’s inherently part of who you are tends to “get better” over quite short periods of time.  

It’s perfectly possible to practice psychiatry, and the law, without this diagnostic practice. Time we all started doing just that.

Self-harm – book review (guest post)

  • July 30, 2019

Most booksellers and libraries stock a range of self-help books. In these straightened times the NHS insists that: “Self-Care is Good For Us”. Books on prescription is a clinical intervention nowadays, with GPs ‘prescribing’, that means recommending, a book from a list of titles available in local libraries. Mental health features most commonly in books on depression, anxiety and eating disorders.
Books on self-harm have long been missing from the shelves. The exceptions are handbooks aimed at parents of teenagers. Self-harm is a chapter of its own in books on BPD, such as ‘Borderline Personality Disorder for Dummies’ or ‘Borderline Personality Disorder the Survival Guide’.  While there is powerful survivor literature including personal accounts of self-harm, this is found online only once you know the right publishers, blogs and websites.
This weekend I was surprised to come across a book that is all about self-harm. It is called ‘Understanding and Responding to Self-Harm, The One Stop Guide.’ The author is Professor Allan House, a psychiatrist with a clinical and academic background in Liaison Psychiatry. The note on the front says it all: “A clear, thoughtful, essential guide.”
The book is intended for a wide readership; people who are newer to self-harm to those who may have harmed repeatedly, as well as their friends and families. The case studies and quotes cover a range of ages, whereas most interest in society is focused on young people and self-harm.  I would add that many mental health professionals, including those working in Liaison teams within Accident and Emergency (A&E) departments, would benefit from reading this book and thinking again about their fixed ideas about self-harm.
I fall into the category of someone who has self-harmed repeatedly. I do feel the worst is behind me. I am now in my early 40s and still have times where in moments of desperation I will hurt myself, mainly by cutting my skin. I took paracetamol overdoses for a few years in my twenties. I developed anorexia as a teenager and it has been a seesaw relationship around eating distress and self-injury ever since. I don’t hate myself or meet the stereotypes that are presented about self-harm and BPD. I am shy but have good friends. I am very diligent in my full-time job. I don’t often feel angry but mostly feel sad and deep thinking.
In some ways I know too much about self-harm and live with the emotional and physical scars. But still I am excited about this book and have recommended it to my private psychologist, friends and other health professionals I come across.
The best feature of the book is that it does not label people who self-harm or dismiss their distress. One section starts “To my mind, one of the most unhelpful ways that psychiatry has of talking about people and their problems is the use of diagnostic labels to describe somebody’s personality. Psychiatrists talk about personality disorder..” The author then outlines the problems of this approach which “downplays the role of other people and circumstances.” The circular diagnosis as ‘explanation’ is described. This insight feels brave and far reaching, especially written by a psychiatrist.
The book feels very current and live. There are pages about taking care around social media. There is analysis about the misleading reporting of statistics about young people and rates of self-harm.
While there is a huge amount of information included the most unhelpful assumptions have been left out. I despair when reading about the endorphine theory around self-harm. The ‘science’ goes that people who cut will feel a rush of adrenaline. I was in a minor injury unit yesterday and the nurse suturing my arm asked if I got a ‘whoosh’ from doing it. I felt a lot of pain, distress and tiredness so a ‘whoosh’ would have been mere fantasy. The book does not make a link with addiction as some people, even service user organisations, insist is the case. Their position is that people who self-harm do it as they are addicted to the ‘behaviour’ and pain. I do everything I can to avoid pain so this idea again makes me uncomfortable. Given the stigma around drug and alcohol addiction, I do feel an addiction model makes our lives even more challenging. I wish that cutting my body, with all of the pain and consequences, were as physically easy as drinking from a bottle.
It is positive that the book covers all levels of self-harm. The author even highlights how ‘superficial’ self-harm counts and brings a different kind of pain: “There has been a tendency to be dismissive about (this) scratching.. However, it’s worth bearing in mind the common observation that superficial cuts can be considerably more painful than sharp deep cuts, and that the person who self-injures in this way may be putting themselves through much greater pain over a long period of time, suffering for longer, and feeling even more stressed and constrained to keep their psychological and physical pain secret”. I have never read a more validating few sentences than these words. I wish that my own self-harm hadn’t become more serious, largely a result of meeting others who self-harmed in residential treatment settings. I was in as much emotional pain when my self-harm didn’t require outside help as I was later in life sustaining more significant injuries even leading to blood transfusions. The severity of self-harm really doesn’t correlate to the level of distress.
From the outset the author makes clear that self-harm isn’t done for ‘attention.’ I wish this book could put an end to this prevailing view. Many people who repeatedly self-harm will be discouraged from going to A&E or asked “What are you doing here again?” We are told to ‘take responsibility.’ The most help available is a dismissive ten minute chat after several hours wait on a chair in hospital. It is as though we are treated in a cold way as too much ‘attention’ would provide an incentive to return.
There are questions the book raises which warrant further discussion. While the majority of those who self-harm may not have a ‘serious mental illness’ there is still individual suffering which should not be ignored. No diagnosis at all though means that someone in great distress may struggle to access treatment and welfare benefits. There does need to be more written about those of us who self-harm repeatedly since a marginalised group. It is repetition which results in the heartsink reaction from health professionals, diagnosis of BPD and eventual withdrawal of help as we are seen to have ‘capacity’. The author recognises that through self-harm we may become less ‘seen’ and taken much less seriously. I think of my own self-harm as getting the same response as the boy who cried wolf. In time people turn away and don’t believe the pain as it happens too frequently. Health services often seem to wish we would just quietly go away, which we often do but just take our pain to other places. 
The book is realistic about the help available on the NHS. While recommending talking to someone and speaking to the GP, there is no automatic referral to secondary care community mental health services. In fact these services are still more likely to focus on psychotic conditions. I often feel like it is a human rights issue that those who self-harm can be turned away from treatment as they don’t meet the criteria or should simply learn better coping strategies. If someone with a different diagnosis than BPD was suicidal or doing serious harm to their body the response may be very different. My experience is that the risks go beyond an injury especially with physical depletion and anaemia. It feels as though perceptions of others change once they know and it’s possible to disclose too much when in crisis.
There are practical steps which are life saving, including harm minimisation. The book is realistic about progress sometimes being slow, but remembering the person isn’t a label or their self-harm. It is all too easy to dehumanise those who self-harm, to see us as a limb to be stitched, a personality disorder, someone taking up a bed unnecessarily, a patient wrongly assumed to have a high pain threshold. The author sees us as people for whom self-harm may be just a small aspect of lives that matter.
I needn’t say how well researched the book is since written by an academic yet it explains things in a clear, concise way including data sources which indicate prevalence of self-harm. The writing is informed by years of talking to people who self-harm and trying to understand. He also touches on psychological explanations including the influence of early life experiences and the impact of emotional abuse and neglect for some, though certainly not all, later driven to self-harm. There is also acknowledgement of the environments in which self-harm surges, especially in women’s prisons.
This is a book written in a sympathetic way. You feel the author is on your side. You wish that there were professionals like him in local services who cared about self-harm and wanted to reduce the immense pain. I hope that at least by more people reading the book there will be education, reevaluation of current attitudes and awareness of self-harm affecting people beyond teenage years. This may be a first step towards achieving the understanding and compassion that we deserve.