I want to tell you about my self harm. I want to make you understand and I want to make me understand too. I want to get to a point where I can be wound free — where my body only shows the scars of where I’ve been and not where I am right now. I can’t remember the last time I was completely wound-free. I was once, maybe when I was about 13. It’s hard to say.
Also, make sure to visit Rachel’s site, MadNOTBad
Before I even knew there was such a thing as the self-injury epidemic, I was part of it.
It started late one night (as most things do) when I was a junior in high school, not sure why I couldn’t stop crying, but very sure that jabbing my fingertips with a sewing needle was just the way to do it. At the time, I didn’t realize there was a name for my peculiar behavior, just that it calmed me down.
When I was 12 I was sexually abused by my stepbrother. After 4 years of secrecy it all came out. My younger sister was also raped when she was 11 and I felt so guilty. It all began by slitting my wrists and overdosing several times. I still feel very low but anyone who has been through the same trauma as me must always remember: The future is more exciting than the past, it holds an element of mystery. So concentrate on the future and don’t remember the past. And also there is always someone who is willing to listen. And never be afraid to talk out. Look after yourself and stay cool. You’re all amazing, wonderful people.
These tears seem endless to me, I don’t think I could ever see the path out of this misery. I sometimes wonder if the tears will ever stop, if they will ever stop flowing when there’s enough. I’m lost in believing that I could ever be loved, or happy, or strong, or all together just proud. I’m surrounded by lies that my own mind told me, about the happiness that I could one day maybe have. That’s why I’m crying and I can’t stop, I’m drowning in myself and there will never be drought.
Have you ever wondered who all knew of this wonderful pleasure? Well reading all these stories, actually lets me see what I was feeling but could never put into words. People may find this act scary but we know they don’t know. They don’t feel the rush. They don’t cry like we do, they use tears, we use blood. Do we actually know why we do this though. We all think, and know it’s not right or it wouldn’t be our hidden treasure. It makes us secure when nothing else could. It makes it fun and exciting, but still, why this hidden treasure? Why not just cry with tears? Does any one know the answer? I honestly don’t think we ever will but that is OK because it is still our hidden treasure.
“It’s raining, it’s pouring…” her tiny voice echoed through the silence, her infant shadow darkening a small portion of the earth. She swung back and forth singing the song as the sheets of rain drenched her and her white, airy dress. Back and forth, ceaselessly, her light hair blowing around her face. “The old man is snoring”. Her child form forlorn and out of place in the gray setting. Thunder cracked in the distance. As she swung her body faded to match its surroundings. Yet she didn’t stop. “He bumped his head”. She was higher off the ground now. “And went to bed”. She didn’t seem to notice the lightning and thunder. “And didn’t get up in the morning…” The echoing song trails off. An empty swing still in motion, the gray sky darkening to envelope it.
I came across your site whilst researching self harm. I am an ex self harmer, or at least that’s what I call myself, although if I have a particularly bad day, I permit myself to a small degree of cutting. I just wanted to say that although it feels like you’re alone in your problems, letting someone in can often be the best way to recovery. My friends were there for me, but only after I allowed them to be. They’re the reason I am no longer as bad as I was. Also, if anyone wants someone to talk to, I am always here for anyone.