Cut Up The Negatives

February 5, 2010
By Anonymous

When entering high school changes occur in a person, their former selves vanish and this new and unknown person stares back at them from the mirror. Some of the differences are exceptional others can be horrid. Mine was perfectly fine according to society’s standards, then some thread in me severed itself and I became one of the defective.

I’d become a shadow, driven by anger, confusion and sadness. I hated who I was, I dreamt of being someone else. I didn’t care who just as long as I didn’t have to endure the pain of being me anymore, even though I didn’t have the slightest indication of who I really was.

Every morning I’d wake up and become beyond frustrated. Why? because I was disappointed that I was alive. I dreamt of endless darkness. Because then, the pain that radiated throughout my chest every time I took a breath would finally cease.

Then one day I found the remedy to my pain in a small, silver blade… Once that blade pierced my skin and the blood trickled out, an odd sense of numbness and pure relief flooded through me. The line between emotional and physical pain had been blurred. In retrospect it’s better to say it had been completely erased.

My existence now revolved around my addiction to cutting, music and hating myself. I went to school, and I talked to people but my mind was always elsewhere. The pleasure I got from cutting was forever burned into my mind, it consumed me like a disease. My salvation was my sickness. The obsession became so bad that I started to cut myself in school. I would pay attention to whatever the teacher said all the while blood was trickling down my arm.

It didn’t surprise me that no one said anything about the cuts. It just re enforced my belief that I was truly invisible to the people around me. -Even the ones that I would die for…- so that made me cut even more. I started out cutting because of the aching emptiness I felt inside, but then I cut for enjoyment. I was fixated with the slight stinging sensation that spread throughout my arm, the blood was beautiful to me and what I loved most of all was the numbness that embraced me afterwards.
This love affair went on for about two and a half years. Then I found the wonder of pain killers and sleeping pills. Sometimes I’d take them to die; other times I would take them just to see how many it would take for me to overdose. I just wanted to been seen, be loved, by anyone. I was beyond broken and silently screaming for attention.

It was the summer of 2008 when I planned to kill myself for the first time. I’d tried countless times in the past few years but this time I nearly succeeded. It was early morning, the sky was filtered with pink and gray; I lay awake in my floor just mindlessly staring at the ceiling, when every bad memory I had ever had hit me like a head on collision.

The memories burned inside my skull, from my 2nd mom’s suicide in January, to all the emotional abuse I suffered throughout my life and finally; the night before I’d once again fallen victim to a broken heart. I vividly remember saying, “this is enough”. I went to the bathroom and got the bottle of pain pills out of the cabinet. I went back in my room, got my razor blade out of its secret hiding place and sat back down of the cold wooden floor.

I sat there motionless, pondering what I was about to do and I smiled slightly because it was all about to be over. I turned up the volume on my stereo and with shaking hands, swallowed twenty pain pills. I made a few slices on my wrists and climbed in my bed to wait. I was waiting for death to wrap me in his arms and whisper those words I was literally dying to hear. After awhile I got a weird feeling in my chest and head, and then I blacked out.

I awoke many hours later feeling dizzy, disoriented, and disappointed. I’d once again failed at ending my pathetic excuse of a life. As more time passed I seeped into myself. My heart was dead and if I had a soul it was useless. I felt absolutely nothing. I wasn’t alive, I just went through the motions, and I breathed without lungs. All color had been drained from the world. There was no sound except the voice of the monsters that dwelled within my mind. They would always tell me, you’re worthless and the world would be better off without you.

Then in April of 2009 , I once again attempted suicide, because the person I love most in the world had sex with a random girl. We weren’t together but it still shattered my existence. It didn’t just break my heart, it broke me. So I downed sleeping pills and begged to die. Yet once again, I didn’t… And it made me think, maybe I was meant for something more or hopefully someone. So I broke down and told my mom everything that I had done and what has happened to me over the years.

I started going to therapy and the therapist diagnosed me with major depression. It wasn’t very surprising and I felt better after I knew what was plaguing me. After that life radically changed for me. I was loved and in love. Chris broke my heart by what he done but now he’s healed me in every way. Through his love, patience, and undying devotion I’ve overcome so many things I once thought were impossible. When he smiles at me it’s screaming, beautiful proof that life can be beautiful if you try. I’ve come to realize that life can be tragic, but you can survive it; if you have the right people by your side. I still struggle with my depression it’s going to be a lifelong fight. But it’s safe to say that today, I. Am. Happy…

The author's comments:
this is a reflection/ memoir piece about my struggle through self mutilation and depression

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