Herein lies the story of one of the stupidest things I have ever done. Last year, I was a completely different person. I was depressed, I was lonely, I was sad. The whole shebang. I felt like no one cared, no one understood, that I was completely isolated from everything and everyone. It all came to a head one night, I don't know what possessed me to do this but it was something small I'm sure. I needed to hurt, I needed to let the pain out that I had been experiencing. I was in a hazy mindframe, and I was in tears. I took off my pants, laid down a black blanket, and grabbed some scissors. I started taking swipes at my lower legs, lightly at first, but heavier and heavier until I had a latticework of red scratches up and down both my legs. I cut harder and harder, trying to let out the poisonous thoughts that had polluted my head. I bled and bled, all over the blankets and all over myself and the floor. It was like an addiction; once I started, I just couldn't stop. It didn't even hurt, it just felt warm. My blood drained and so did my energy. I felt light-headed and even sadder than I had before. So I finally threw the scissors and tried in vain to stop the bleeding. It didn't work; it just kept coming from all the gaping wounds. In desperation I dunked both legs in icy water and then applied pressure, and it stopped. I laid down and cried and cried. My now-ex came home, and without noticing, without a word, went to sleep beside me. I felt sick.
At A Glance Author minikittie Contact minikittie@bme.anon When A year ago Artist Myself Studio My bedroom Location Toronto, Ontario, Canada During the months following that incident, my legs itched and burned, and grew hairy because I couldn't shave them.They pussed and scabbed and looked disgusting. Eventually my ex noticed them. About a week later. And told me I was sick, and disturbed, and wanted me to leave. I cried and cried and scratched all the scabs off and bled again. When we went off to Mexico in March, my legs were healing but not quickly, and when I wore my bikinis everyone stared and whispered about me. I felt like a freak. The salt water from the Gulf of Mexico helped me to heal, but I still felt raw inside.
I met a new man who loved and appreciated me, and when we went to sleep together I was terrified. What would he do when he saw my legs? Would he scream at me and run away, and leave me? Would he call me sick?? I was so scared, I had to make up something that would explain them that wouldn't make me look crazy. So I told him that the scars were a byproduct of being sexually assaulted, which I was. He believed me. I felt horrible for lying, but what could I have done?
As months passed, we grew closer and closer. One day we fought hard, and I went home crying and shaking. Took out those same scissors and took just a few passes at my legs. When he saw them, I tried to explain these new scratches away, but he looked at me and asked why I felt I needed to lie. He told me about a friend of his that had done something similar. And so I looked into his trusting eyes and told the truth. He just hugged me and said that it was ok, he loved me, and that if I ever felt the need to cut again to call him and he would be there for me. I cried happily this time, and began to accept myself.
But the scars have caused problems. I can no longer wear skirts with bare legs when I see my parents, when I go out, when I go to an interview. Even pantyhose don't disguise the scars. They're fading now, along with the hurt that I used to feel, but they are still there as a permanent reminder of my selfishness and impulsiveness.
I guess the reason I wrote this is to let all you cutters out there know that you're not alone. But that there are other ways to let out your anger besides hurting yourself. It may feel good now, it may seem to help now, but when you're 30, 40, 50, those scars will still be there, and you may be stigmatized by them. You may start to feel ashamed of your body, and hide yourself away from everyone like I did. It's really really not worth it. Just as you shouldn't get a meaningless tattoo because you'll regret it, you should never cut yourself up because you WILL regret it. Let out your feelings in other ways. Paint, draw, talk to someone on IAM, talk to your journal, punch a punching bag, go running. Buy some cheap plates and smash them to pieces with a hammer. Anything but hurt yourself. The things that hurt you are not entirely your fault, and you needn't cut to let people know that you need help. Open your mouth, and use your words instead of a knife.
Good luck to you all.