There are times that I have no choice but to think of myself as a hypocrite.Why, you ask? It's simple.You see, when I read things online or hear stories of people battling with self-injury, I tell them that they should stop and that it's not worth it.I know what you must be thinking, 'What's so wrong about that? You're only trying to help.' If I were someone other than myself, I might say the same thing.Maybe you're still a bit confused about what I'm saying, so I'll state it clearly; I have the exact problem that all those other people do.That's right, I am a self-injurer.A cutter, to be exact.I've dealt with this for the last couple of years, since I was fourteen.I'm almost sixteen now, and I still deal with it to this day...
At A Glance Author Anonymous. Contact Anonymous.@bme.anon When Two years ago Looking back, I had some self-destructive tendancies earlier than the time when I started to cut.So, maybe I should have seen this coming.I remember when I was little and I would get mad, I'd punch myself.I also remember times when I was younger that I'd pick at scratches or wounds on my body, and my family would always say to me, "You'll have scars from that if you don't stop." My response was always the same, "I don't care." That was honesty.I didn't care then, and I still don't care about the scars that I've gotten from anything, no matter what it may be.Maybe that was part of my downfall.Perhaps, if I cared more, I would've never started this...
Now, let's move on to when I was fourteen.Not only did I have those tendancies when I was younger, but when I got a little older, I had more problems.I have terrible anxiety, and I'm extremely shy.And after awhile, I turned into an angry, depressed person who seemed to mad at the world.The worst part of it all is that I didn't even have a real reason to be.Nothing terrible, at least.After so long, that and other things I dealt with got to be too much.I remember the very first time I hurt myself by cutting my own skin.I can replay it over and over again in my head...
The first time I hurt myself in that way had to do with my so-called father.I can't even stand to call him that.It sickens me.I've given up on him, because quite frankly we won't ever have a relationship, and to be honest, I don't want one.He can't even remember my birthday.I hear from him once in a blue moon, and I don't even want to hear from him that much, but I deal with it.Anyways, back to that night.It was one of the many times he said he was going to do something, and didn't come through.However, by this time I was old enough to know that it was wrong, and I had just had too much.I couldn't take it anymore.I was in my room sitting on my bed, and I just couldn't top thinking about it.The tears were streaming down my face, like they're about to do now as I write this, and the more I thought about it, the more I cried.I just couldn't stand being treated like nothing anymore.I pulled a dull knife out of the drawer and looked at it.Finally, I stuck it to my arm and pressed, lightly.It made an indent, and turned red.I couldn't believe I had even done that much, put it away, and went to sleep crying...
As most people who have dealt with this know, it doesn't happen just once.For awhile, I used that knife.I didn't want to do much damage, but before long I changed my mind.That was when I started to pry blades out of disposable razors.They produced more blood and left more of a mark.I liked that.That's still what I use now, if I ever do it...
There was a time that I tried to stop, but it only lasted for like a week.I continued on until someone found out, and asked me if I was going to stop.My response was "I don't know." They started to talk to me about how I'd end up in the hospital at the psych ward.I remember saying, "Maybe that's what I need." That's when I knew that I was gone and that it was a problem, because I was willing to just let someone put me in a hospital.I had some time to think, and decided I would quit...
I won't lie, I've relapsed some, but I'm still trying.I was broken down by so many people that I felt like everyone was against me and that no one cared about what I did, but I was shown that some people do care.I think I always knew that deep down.I'll be honest, I'm not all that interested in quitting forever, but I'll try for the people who actually care.They deserve it.
P.S - I am in now way condoning anything that I've done.