I don't want to give it up...Not yet.
I would like to just tell you for starters, that I know this story sounds a bit wierd and it is written sort of differently maybe than others, but please bear with me, and read it.It wasn't easy for me to write something like this.
You know, if someone had told me about a year and a half ago that I would be sitting here at fifteen, talking about the year or so, that i've been a self-injurer, a cutter to be exact, I probably would've told them they'd lost their mind.I've changed that drastically in such a short time, I guess, because that's all changed now.
My story of self-harm isn't the typical one though, you know where something horrible happens, and then it starts.I don't have anything horrible, devastating, or tragic going on in my life.I didn't when I started either.Little did I know, this would turn into something that now, I can't give up.Nor do I want to, but that's something I'll explain later, let's move on for now...
I had heard of cutting before I started doing it, and to be honest, I always thought of it as a possible suicide attempt.I guess I just didn't have an understanding of it, but I do now.I was wrong, it isn't a suicidal thing at all.It's just a coping mechanism, something to make you feel better.
I remember the first time I did it.I don't like to place blame on people, but the first time was because of my so-called father.It was one of those many times he had lied to me.One of the times he said he would come and then he didn't show up.This has been my whole life with him, but by this time, I was fourteen and I knew better, knew that it wasn't right.So, as I sat there alone that night, I started to think to myself things like, 'why does he keep doing this?...I don't understand what I did to make him not want to see me.' The more I thought about it, the angrier I got, and thoughts started to run through my head faster and faster.All I wanted was for the tears to stop, and for my thoughts to falter.So, I took the knife out of the drawer beside my bed.It had a dull blade, so I knew it wouldn't cause a lot of harm.Nothing fatal.After taking it out, I proceeded to with slight hesitation, drag the blade across my unharmed wrist.With that, I went to sleep, thinking about what I had just done.
After that, I didn't do it for awhile.
Sometimes I think about it, and I feel like I should've seen this coming.I mean, i'm not completely happy with everything.I don't get out a lot, like normal kids my age.I'm isolated a lot.That bothers me, among other things.Whether I have any kind of depression, I don't know foe sure.And when you aren't happy, and you feel sad a lot, you want to feel better, right? So, I should've seen this coming.It only seems logical.
For awhile after that first time, when I started doing it again, I would use that knife.By this time, I had started doing this to myself anytime when I was upset.Whether it was because of something at school, at home, or whatever else it may have been.
After awhile, that dull blade on the knife wasn't what I wanted.One day, I decided I wanted something different, maybe something sharper, something to bring more blood.I don't know what I wanted exactly, but that knife wasn't it anymore.So, as I was about to inflict harm on myself, I went into my bathroom and found the bag of razors.Just normal razors used for shaving.I took one and went back to my room, and closed the door.I pulled out the knife, and proceeded to pry the white plastic from the top of the razor.I wanted the blades inside.I got them too.That was, and still is today, my weapon of choice.
After doing this for awhile, I decided I wanted to stop.I didn't want to do that to myself anymore.At least I thought I didn't.So, I decided to tell my mom.I did, and I threw away the blades I used.I told her and myself I wasn't going to do it anymore.I see now, that I wasn't ready to stop, and you can't make someone who isn't ready to stop, stop.I lasted for maybe a month or so, before I started again.I just wasn't ready.When will I be ready, you ask?...Maybe never.I don't know.
Now, today at fifteen, it's been about a year or so since that first time, and I still do it.It's become an addiction in a way, something I need in my life to keep me sane, and calm.The difference now though is that I don't regret it, and I don't think badly about it.I don't want to stop.I'm sure a lot of people don't understand why it is people do this, but if you do it, you understand.I mean, I know that i'm putting myself into a potentially fatal situation.But aren't you doing the same thing when you skydive, or even just get into a car? I guess i'm flirting with death, a little bit closer than most.And as I said, now I don't think badly about it.I used to think I was stupid, and it was stupid.Now, I don't.I had someone tell me once, they weren't talking about this, but i've taken it and applied it to this, they told me "It isn't stupid, if it makes you feel better." That's true, isn't it? Sometimes I even wish what I do was something that could be accepted, but it isn't and so I continue now, to hide it...
Thank you, for taking the time to read my story.
Story shared: 27/05/2009 23:51:09
#491 View the comments about this story Self-harm - self-injury - cutting - self-mutilation
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