Self Harm

Warning: Trigger

Self harm is something that so many people struggle with and I am one of those people.

If you follow my blog you may have read the "Self Esteem" post in which I explained my struggles with self esteem and bullying. Well, I mentioned that I began hurting myself after the incident with Ashtin which pushed me over the edge. I was not ready to talk about it then, and to be quite honest I'm still not, nor do I think I'll ever be. However, something came up and I feel like I need to say something.

When I first started, it was just scratches, nothing that would leave a scar, just an initial stinging. That only sufficed for about two weeks and then I needed a bigger release. So I started to heat up bobby pins over a candle and then hold them to my skin, but it wouldn't get hot enough to really burn me, and it wasn't doing anything to relieve the pain. So I moved on and picked up a blade.

I knew, deep down, that I shouldn't do it and so I stood in the middle of my room, door locked, tears streaming down my face, and the cool metal of the blade pressed against my forearm, waiting for me to push deeper and drag it across my unblemished skin. I couldn't see any other way to find relief and so I pushed the blade down and pulled it about an inch along my arm, watching as a trail of red bloomed behind it. The relief that I got from that one simple action was incredible. I found clarity through the pain and I knew in that moment there would be no going back. Obviously, I couldn't take back the cut, but I couldn't give up the one thing that made me feel better.

I finally had some control over my life again. I was inflicting the pain upon myself and I could stop any time I wanted. Or so I thought. The more I did it, however, the more addicting it became. I found myself needing the blade, even when I didn't really want it. Sort of like when you're sick and you have to take the gross tasting cough syrup. You need it to feel better, but you don't want to take it.

The thing is, while I thought about it, I genuinely did not want to die. I wasn't doing it in hopes that I might slip up one day, I was doing it because it was the only control I felt I had.

When I started accumulating more and more cuts and scars I had to start hiding them better. Long sleeves, hoodies, and cover up. But wearing a sweatshirt in the middle of summer got suspicious and I was getting questioned a lot. Some people even saw them. I was forced to come up with excuses and even though they were believable I'm pretty sure no one really trusted what I was saying.

I cut myself for two years. When I met my group of friends in 7th grade I built up enough of a relationship with them that I eventually was able to trust two of the three of them with my secret. Mainly because they saw them and asked me outright if that's what I was doing. I couldn't hold it in anymore and I was glad to have told somebody.

I was still being bullied and having problems, and while the pain from the cuts still allowed me some clarity, I had lost the control when I became addicted. I wanted to stop. It took me almost a year to stop bringing me to a total of three years worth of cuts and scars. I bought all sorts of scar creams because I wanted to forget as much as possible about that time in my life. My scars eventually faded and now you can barely see them. Although, I think about it all the time, if I could go back I wouldn't have gotten rid of my scars because they are a huge part of who I am today.

Unfortunately, despite all of that having happened, three days ago, I relapsed. I have had so much going on in my life and so much pain, and I truly do hate most things about myself. I couldn't take it anymore, I got my blade out and began again. This time on my legs. I kept cutting and cutting not seeing the faithful trail of blood blooming behind the blade. I assumed my blade wasn't sharp enough and so I put it away, grateful that it hadn't worked. Except that it had worked. About ten minutes later both of my legs were throbbing and stinging and sure enough they had turned pink and the blood had outlined a pattern of chaos.

Once again my goal is not to kill myself. My goal is to gain control, clarity, and relief.

I won't give reasons for why I am cutting again, because it's all still too painful and very personal. I may say why later on, but right now, I'm just not ready. That being said, I completely understand how hard it is to get up and move on with your day, especially when it feels like the world is crashing down around you.

Don't give up. Stay strong and keep fighting, because I have to believe that one day it will get better.

I know I have a long road ahead of me and stopping again is going to be extremely difficult, especially considering the relief I get from doing it. But I will try, and I won't give up. Not now, not ever.