Frantic Days

By , Oak Park, MI
I guess it started when I was just 12 years old. Years, after my father’s death, I was tired of the crying and people tearing me down. So I did the only thing I could think of at the time.

Cutting.

Over the years I did cut myself without anyone noticing anything. I always wore long sleeved shirts or jackets; sometimes I would wear these big rubber bracelets on my wrist. It wasn’t like I was trying to hide my scars or anything it just made it easier to dodge the questions and stares. It wasn’t until hit the 9th grade that it got worse.

So I started going to therapy by myself.

Never thought how it would upset my friends, my peers, and mostly my family.

I went over my best friend Ashlee house one day after my session. It was hot and the sun was blazing so I decided not to wear a long sleeved shirt. When I took off my hoodie Ashlee was saw my all scars on my arms. She yelled “Melondy, WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN DOING TO YOUR ARMS!”

I tried to make up excuses but they fell up short. She looked at me like I was crazy for a while then asked me why. I never told anybody how and why I started cutting except my Therapist. It was hard and some tears were shed.

“I can’t tell you what to do Mel, but next time you even THINK about cutting I’m going to cut YOU!” she said

But at that time what she was telling me really didn’t register in my head.

At the time I really couldn’t care.

I was upset with myself.

So I cut, cut, cut.

A lot of people didn’t understand that I wasn’t doing it to just get attention but, to deal with my pain and sorrow the only way I’d know how, the most easiest way for my family not to know how much I was hurting.

After I started to going to therapy for a year and I thought it was working. I had only cut myself 5 times in that year. But, something happened

Heartbroken.
The Lies.
The Tears.

I wondered whey he did this to me. Did I deserve it? No, I didn’t. So I did the only thing I could do to make it hurt less.

Cut, cut, cut.

At the beginning of my 10th grade summer I had gotten really tired of wallowing in myself pity. So, I went back to my therapist. She told me that if I really wanted to stop put all my emotions into what I love the most.

Writing.

I was a little apprehensive at first, but then after a couple of weeks I started to really get into it. I took all my emotions, my fears and mostly tears into my journals.

That’s what I’ve been doing since then taking all the frustration and tears, then turning them into words. It’s been over a year and I haven’t touched a pair of scissors, little blades or anything I could purposely burn myself with.

No more suicidal thoughts.

Unnecessary tears.

Then when the summer of my junior year came around I met another girl who was a cutter, her name Nicole. We became the best of friends quickly since we shared a best friend, Ashlee. She told me about why she cuts, “I do it because it makes my pain bearable, makes whatever bothering go away.” she said

I’m happy that I’m better and don’t need to cut, but sometimes the urges are still there and with what Nicole had said I almost did it when I was at my lowest again, but I didn’t because I remembered what I’ve been trying to achieve: no more cutting.

I’m really happy that I didn’t or I would be down that same path again.

When I’m thinking about my past, and how it devoured my life I look at my old writings sometimes and wondered how my present would be if I had handled some of the situations better. But I’m happy with the way it is and if I could turn back time I would do it all over again because I love how close I am with my family and my very best friends and it wouldn’t matter any way.

That’s part of my past, I won’t let it decide my future.





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