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Downward Spiral
Copyright, Sarah
My name is Sarah. I'm 16 years old and a self injurer. But unlike many self injurers out there, my reasons for being this way are different. I was not abused. I was not raped or molested as a child. I was not in a foster home. On the contrary, my parents both love me and I'm very close with them, as well as my two brothers and one sister. My self injury stems from the disorder I have.
You see, I'm a heavier girl. I've never been thin and I never will be. Toned, perhaps, but never like the "others." I was very introverted as a child and showed signs of depression from my early years.
My parents separated when I was three, but remained on good terms. I took the separation hard. My mother got together with someone new, who ended up raising me in a fatherly way and became a surrogate dad for me, especially when I went through the stage of hating my real father. When he and my mother spilt up six years ago, when I was eleven, my world crumbled. For the first time in my short life, I hurt myself intentionally by cutting with a razor. I don't remember why, but I didn't do it again for years... until last fall, when I was fifteen. I'd been to two highschools already and onto my third. I was still overweight and had poor self esteem. My grades slipped drastically. And so did my mind...
I met a girl at the new school named Niki, who re-introduced me to cutting. She didn't intend for me to begin, but seeing her arms and hearing her tales was enough... I began to cut again. The release I felt was tremendous... and it still is...
My thoughts began to run together, which was strange for me, seeing as I usually had a good control on them. Things seemed so downright bleak for me, everything from friends and family to school to my own self. In late October, I was prescribed lorazapame, an anti-anxiety drug. It helped, but made me tired... I was only on it for a month.
By the time Christmas came, my arms and legs were ravaged. Most of my cuts were on my legs during that time and because I'm overweight and have odd circulation, the wounds don't heal properly on my legs, making them last longer. I accepted this as more pain I could take. I felt strong, but at the same time, weak.
I spent the night at Niki's shortly before Christmas. Her and I both ended up talking and crying, both having fits and cutting. I called my mother and told her I needed help. So in January 2001, I started seeing a psychiatrist. He put me on Paxil, an anti-depressant and when my sleep began being disturbed, Trazadone, which is an anti-depressant/anxiety and also a sedative. I was in charge of taking my "meds" and frequently took too many or not enough. Then I became addicted to codiene through Tylenol 3's. I finally got myself off those and continued on Paxil and Trazadone, not telling my shrink much about how I was. Meanwhile, I was slipping away from everything and everyone.
I was finally diagnosed with a form of depression known as dysthymia, which is a step below manic. Alongside that, I have an excessive anxiety disorder, obsessive-compulsiveness and I'm addicted, to this day, to marijuana and nicotine(I smoke). So in light of this, I naturally felt awful. I felt guilty, sad, angry... and a whole lot of other things I'd never known I could feel.
The night before my Sweet 16, which is February 14th, I chased a half bottle of Tylenol 3's with a bottle of red wine and sliced my wrists. I passed out on my bedroom floor and thought that was that. I woke up the next day to the sound of my alarm clock. So I hadn't suceeded. I was still alive. And very much wishing I was dead. I'd attempted suicide several times before, but not like that. And I had to go to school that day, seeing as to was my birthday. What a surprise to see the newly 16 year old me looking like I spent the night in a dumpster...
As the months flew by, the drug addictions slowed. My cutting slowed as I started seeing a theripist along with my shrink. I was taken off Trazadone a month ago for trying to OD, which resulted in me being in the hospital.
My terepy is going well, but I still don't feel right. I feel like I need to cut, and I still do sometimes. I cut my wrist 3 nights ago and my stomach and leg about 3 weeks ago. But I am making progress...
I guess someday I'll look back on this and laugh, but I don't think about that... I think about trying to get myself out of myself... of trying to make my world stop spinning and flinging me about in its path.