Yesterday, March 1st, was Self-Harm Awareness Day. Therefore, this post is going to do just that. Make you aware of self-harm.
The first time I cut myself, I was fourteen. At the time, I was dealing what I thought was an Earth-shattering heartbreak. I got caught up in the lies of someone who wasn’t even worth my time, and I let my emotions get the best of me. I was in a relationship with someone who I thought was so good to me. He had me wrapped around his finger, I believed every sweet lie he told me and I would have done anything for him. He made me feel perfect, like there was no one better for him. Which is why I have never really been the same since I found out about the first time he cheated on me, and stupid me in all my naivety decided to forgive him. It couldn’t have meant anything, I managed to convince myself. It was just a kiss, it didn’t mean anything. I let him raise me up again, make me believe I was perfect again. I loved him, and I believed that he loved me too. And then things started going downhill. I found out that he had cheated on me again, not once but twice. At least that’s all I was made aware of, knowing him it was probably a lot more than that. And this time it wasn’t just a kiss, he had actually had sex with another girl while I was his girlfriend. The day I found out, we broke up. I don’t think I’ve ever cried so hard, not at school at least. This was when things got bad. I wouldn’t leave my room. I distanced myself from friends and I stopped smiling and laughing, which if you know me is something that I do like every 30 seconds. I let it destroy me, inside and out. It just killed me knowing that I wasn’t good enough for him. I started skipping meals and picked up some unhealthy habits. I was going hard on a starvation diet. This particular diet was the product of a couple months of my life in which I experienced heartbreak, drugs, alcohol, smoking, and a few other things. I lived pretty fast paced for a few months and when things slowed down and came to a close, I was extremely empty. I felt burnt out, used, psychotic, exhausted emotionally and physically, particularly emotionally, and I was fighting myself every single day in the mirror. I was fighting with myself, telling myself that certain relationships with friends and otherwise had crumbled, because I wasn’t good enough, because I did something wrong. I fought with myself and with every bit of food I put in my mouth. I fought a voice inside my head that told me I didn’t deserve to eat that day. I was subconsciously aware of how bad things had gotten, and I needed to find a place where I could set my pain free. When I realized how hurting myself felt like a relief in my darkest moments, I started cutting. I started on my wrists and wore excessive amounts of bracelets to hide my shame and I got away with it for a while, until I forgot to hide it one day and my best friend, at the time and now, found out and confronted me about it. (I still can’t read this without crying knowing how much I let my stupidity hurt her: youknowchloe.blogspot.com/2009/09/infinity.html) Once I got caught I began to cut in places no one could see. Hiding it on my ribs, stomach, thighs. Eventually, I got more careless, cutting on my wrists again. With every scar, I felt like I was punishing myself for something I’d done. I could see the results of myself feeling too fat, of the relationship that I let ruin me forever, of the friendships that crumbled, of the people who walked out of my life, of the addictions I’d become a slave to. I could see what I’d done to myself, and my life. I was taking my own pain out on myself, because I felt like I had caused it. I was giving myself what I thought I deserved. I was letting my skin pay the price for what I felt within my heart. It took a long time, and a long battle for me to kind of come to senses. I still struggle with not feeling good enough. Every time I feel stressed, every time I feel hurt, or I feel like I shouldn’t have eaten something, or shouldn’t have done something, I can still feel a tingling sensation on my skin. I’d be lying if I said I never gave in to these urges, but I do know now that it’s wrong to hurt myself. I don’t mean it’s wrong in society’s terms, or anyone else’s terms, it’s wrong of me to take the blame out on my body. For whatever reason I feel is worth a scar, it’s wrong to ever have to feel like that’s all I’m worth. That is my story. I have since then learned that how you feel is never wrong. It’s hard to accept, but somewhere, deep inside me, I’m aware that I’m the best version of myself that I can be. I don’t need to look like anyone else. I don’t need to be like anyone else. I don’t need to compare myself to anyone else in the world. Pain, flaws, mistakes, and all, I’m learning to live with those things without feeling the need to put them on display. I HAVE learned to live with myself, despite the fact that my brain is wired to hear every good thing about myself as a whisper, and everything that I’d like to change as a shriek. It was selfish of me to have ever let myself get so low as to inflict pain upon myself, and I am truly sorry to anyone that I hurt while I was being naive. I have come so far from the helpless little girl that I used to be.
People with these problems aren’t going to speak up, so if you know of anyone experiencing self-infliction please intervene and try to make them get help. And if you’re reading this and you’re stuck between putting a blade to your skin and asking for help, talk to me. I know its not much reading the words of a stranger, but just know that I’m here for you. I might not know you, your story, or the things you’re facing at this moment, but I do know what it’s like to feel so desperate and lost that you’d be willing to hurt yourself in order to find some kind of peace. This is something that requires a lot of persistence and support so don’t be afraid to ask for help. Just please, don’t cut tonight.
IT GETS BETTER.
