Copyright, Whitney

I don’t really know how I ended up on this website, but I’m almost glad I did. And I really don’t know why I’m writing this, but I think it’s a part of my soul that’s been locked up for so long that I don’t know how else to express it.

I’m 16 years old and a recovering anorexic/self-injurer. Last year was the final battle between self… and self, I guess. I had been cutting, burning, picking, biting, and overdosing (which I didn’t know was part of SI) since I was 12 years old. It had become increasingly worse as my eating disorder became more serious. Like most on this page, it was the only way I could get a sense of who I thought was me, the only way I could feel, or just for a moment; stop feeling. It never occured to me that I was hurting everyone who was watching me tumble into the depths of Hell.

Well, last year, which was my Junior Year in High School — I had skipped two grades in my school-history — my walls fell down. One night I decided that I was done. I felt helpless against the world, against school, against my family, and against me. I decided to overdose on diet pills. I had just stolen, yes stolen (my eating disorder, at this time, ran rampant — and you have to be 18 to buy them), a new bottle and emptied them into my throat. Panicked and terrified, I ran to my parents and told them. They took me to the E.R where they offered to send me to a psych ward. My parents said that I was just going through a time in my life and it wasn’t neccessary. Ha.

Well, come a few months, and mothers’ day had arrived. The night before I had been through a terrible rage and other various emotions, leaving my entire body bleeding and scarred. It was a horrible mess, but like usual - my parents didn’t notice. The next day was a hot day, living in the desert doesn’t support self-injury, and I had to wear pants and a sweatshirt to hide the gross-ness of my body. My parents realized this and held me down while they rolled up my sleeves to reveal the Civil War on my body. This was, again, when I went to the hospital and actually went to the psych ward.

Well, to make a very long story of recovery and battling short — it has been eight months since I have cut my body in any shape or form. I have been tempted but look back on who I was then and realize it just isn’t worth it.

I’ve met a wonderful guy who I know would never stay with me if I still participated in my own brutalness, and I think that keeps me from screwing up again.

I don’t tell this because I want a “yay Whitney!” or anything along those lines. I tell it, I guess, because I know how horrible it is. How absolutely addicting SI is. But it can be resolved. It’s hard, yes, but it’s so worth it. If you have any questions or just want to talk — let me know, email me. I am always here to talk. I hope all of you find happiness in yourselves, and soon.


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