March 23, 2011
By , Breaux Bridge, LA
“My weakness is that I care too much
And my scars remind me that the past is real
I tear my heart open just to feel.” Papa Roach- Scars

I can’t tell you exactly when it started but I can tell you exactly when it stopped, July 8, 2008. I don’t think I will ever forget the desperate feeling of suffocating in my own emotions. I’ll never forget the years of anxiety and depression that had led me to that pain.
Years of fighting with parent’s, my friend’s, and most importantly myself, had led me to this spot a million times before. Sitting on the bathroom, brushing away fresh tears and holding the sharp edge on my skin. Scissors sharp enough to kill, were the only thing I had come to trust with my life.I didn’t second guess myself the first time I dragged the blade across my skin. Not the first time, or the second, or third, or fourth, or fifth. It might have been more, I don’t want to remember.

It should be easy to avoid pain. It’s a natural instinct to walk away from harmful situations. It’s a natural instinct to not want to hurt and I didn’t. I didn’t want the pain or hurt and this was the only way to stop it.

I didn’t nearly die that night or any of the million times before. I never did. I cut to keep myself alive. To remind myself I was alive. Pain had become constant, physical and emotional and this was a release. Seeing the blood spill was like seeing the problems spill out. I could finally breath.

I don’t know what changed that night. What changed my mind. Whether it was the fact that I was in a different country or one day away from the biggest day of my life, I don’t know. I wasn’t worried about hiding scars, no one ever noticed anyway.

All I could think was I needed control. I wanted control. I had none.No control over what was happening around me, no control over my emotions, no control over my own pain. Nothing. I needed it back, I wasn’t used to not being in control and this was my way of getting it back. Or at least I thought it was my way of having some kind of control. I was wrong.

The sharp edges, the endorphin rush, the scars, the long sleeves, they controlled me. I had no control. You’d think it would be easy to walk away from self inflicting pain but it’s not. People have addictive tendancies. We get hooked to drugs, alcohol, people and etc. I don’t find it hard to believe I was addicted to self injury but everyone else does. They find it hard to even phantom the idea that I turned to something so stupid and useless.

I don’t expect anyone to understand, I’m still trying to understand myself. I had a great family, great friends, about to have the best day of my life, and there I was alone finding relief in the blade.

There’s a lot of things that led me to that place, so much I can’t write out. Years of unspeakable things and memories that would take too long to type and too much pain not worth reliving. But something did lead me there, to the silent battle of self injury that so many teenagers face today. I can’t expect anyone to understand but I know that because of that I can help others not feel so alone, cause their not.

My story is not uncommon it’s just unheard. Hidden behind years of shame and fear. If I can help anyone from hurting themselves again, then what I’ve gone trough doesn’t seem so stupid.
Life is hard and we’re told at a very young age that it’s not okay to be anything but perfect but there’s no such thing as that. Perfect is what you get when you hear the a song that fits perfectly into a situation and even then perfect is questionable. So, what happens when you don’t fit the mold of perfect? When you have no one to turn to or talk to cause you’re always the one picking other people up. What happens then?

Years of perfectionism have shaped me into what I am today. I am nowhere near perfect. I am a mess but I’m happy. I am nowhere near proud of the things I have done but I will own up to them. They are not who I am. My past is far from what I am today. I know there is a reason for everything I have gone through and none of it has made me any weaker. In fact I think it’s made me a heck of a lot stronger, a lot more understanding, and a lot more sympathetic.

I know what It’s like to hurt and be ignored. I know what It’s like to feel hopless and helpeless. I know what it’s like to get up every morning and have to face a day of nothing worth looking forward to. I know that and more but I also know what it’s like to look in the mirror and not hate myself. I know what it’s like to forgive people who have done me so much wrong. I know what it’s like to move on and not look back. I know what it’s like to live. I now know what it feels like to be alive again and I missed this feeling.

Some people will call me weak for turning to self injury. Then again I know better than to judge. We’re all dealing with a personal battle. We are all lost, insecure, scared, and lonely sometimes. The thing to remember is that you’re never alone.

To this day I can’t tell you what happened to me. I can’t remember what changed me from the self destructive person to the person I am today. I had faced a lot of battles, most of them self created but I have won them all. Sometimes alone, other times with great friends but I’ve won. This one though, I am still fighting and I’m going to keep fighting for a long time. I will never return to those self harming tendencies.

July 8th, 2008, was the day I walked away from my self hatred and I’m not going back. It was the day I remembered I was alive and that I had to live. That day will forever be in my mind, my heart and my wrists but I’m okay with that now.

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