Self Harm-A Survivor's Story
When I was in Junior High I knew an amazing girl who was struggling with a lot on her plate. These struggles went far beyond boy trouble or puberty complaints. Even after all these years I remember the courage and strength she exhibited in surviving all that she did. We separated for a time, and we have recently started talking again. After seeing her story unfold from my perspective I wanted to know what it was like from hers. I have asked her to share her story, in the hopes that one day, someone, somewhere can be bettered by what she endured. This is her story, in her own words:
"To say I understood how it all happened or why things turned out the way they did would be a lie. I don’t know how or why anything happened the way that it did. At 15 life seemed like it was at its all-time low. Things at my home were not ideal, years of verbal abuse finally pushed me to my breaking point. I was lonely and wading through pools of pain and darkness. Being a 15 year old I didn’t know how to reach out for help or who even to reach out to. All at once thoughts of suicide started to creep into my mind, I wanted nothing more than to end the misery and torment that was currently life. I thought there were no other option and that the only way to escape the pain I would have to end my life. I was drowning in pain and darkness but no one around could see, no one would pull me out or show me the way to safety. I constantly thought about how to end my life and how much better it would be once I was finally gone. I told myself that I would not be missed and everyone would be so much better when I was gone, I told myself that I was unimportant and once I was gone no one would even notice. I believed every last one of these lies, but I was too scared to actually end my life, when one day I came across something on the internet a silly saying about cutting.
When the day got bad and I couldn’t handle it anymore I had two choices: I
could commit suicide or I could cut myself. I can’t tell you how many times I
sat in my room, angry music blaring as I cried just praying someone-anyone
would notice me and help me. I would sit there crying until I couldn’t cry
anymore; then I would reach for a razor blade. Cutting wasn’t just making myself
bleed and giving myself a new scar; cutting became an addiction. Cutting
momentarily blocked out the pain, when I felt the sting of the razor I couldn’t
feel the heartache anymore-all I could feel was the sting. I thought cutting
was solving my problem. I kept a razor blade in my car, under my pillow, and in
my purse, but the relief from each cut never lasted, so the next time I wanted
them to be deeper and bigger. I was a slave to it, every time my heart ached
and things got too far out of control or I felt like the darkness that was all
around me became too much-all I wanted was to do was direct that pain
elsewhere, to the physical pain of cutting myself. Cutting distracted me
momentarily but it never solved the problem.
I became so numb to all feeling and blocked everyone out. I thought before that there was no one there for me, but in truth because I was in such a dark place I blocked anyone that could help me out. I had so many chances to get help but I wasn’t ready to give up my addiction. I hurt the people that were closest to me. I lost dear friends and damaged relationships. Cutting wasn’t something that only affected me, cutting changed me. I became more reclusive, less willing to open up, because every time I was hurting I went to my razor blade to solve the problem. I lied about the problems I was having and pretended the real issue behind my behavior didn’t exist.
It wasn’t until my senior year of high school that I finally broke that addiction. There were times I could go a full year without sitting down with the razor blade, but when things got too tough I would find myself in the same situation. Music blaring and crying uncontrollably, some days I would sit with my razor blade in-hand, just staring at it, trying so hard not to cut. Some days I would succeed and be able to walk away from it, and other days I gave in to the addiction. The process of breaking that addiction was not an easy one, to this day I still struggle. When life gets hard and it seems like there is no happy ending in sight, or when it seems like everything I do is just so horribly wrong I want to run back to the razor blade. I want to cut. I want to feel that release, to feel like the pain that has been gripping my heart is gone. But I don’t! Why? For the longest time I would wake up every morning and look at myself in the mirror. I could see each and every scar. I was so ashamed of them. So ashamed that I hadn’t been strong enough, that I was too weak to resist the temptation. I was not good enough to make it through and those scars were a constant reminder of my failure. I hated them and I hated myself for them. I let those scars turn into a new addiction: an addiction to self-loathing.
I put myself down every chance I got. I told myself that I wasn’t good enough to be loved by someone else because I had made mistakes when I was younger, I told myself I was broken and damaged goods and those scars were proof. They were proof that I was worth nothing. I was the damaged box on the grocery store shelf that no one wanted simply because it looked damaged. Breaking the mental abuse cycle has been so much more difficult than stopping the physical abuse. My mind and my thinking has shifted though, it has been a long process and it is one that will probably never end.
Each morning and every night before I go to bed I look in the mirror and tell myself “I have integrity, I am hardworking and loyal, I am strong, I am capable, I am beautiful, I am intelligent, I am worthy of all that is good, I am confident, and I am me.” At first I didn’t believe the things I was saying to my reflection; I couldn’t or just wouldn’t see it, but now I know that I am each one of those things and more. When I see the scars on my wrist, on my legs and on my thighs they aren’t reminders of my failures or a reminder that I wasn’t strong enough. They are a reminder that I am still here: that because I am here I can make a difference. I see those scars and I hate them but they are evidence that I survived. I made the choice to change and I did.
I had so many countless angels that helped me along the way and I couldn’t have done it without them, but I had to make the choice to stop and to change first. Others could have made the decision for me but I never would have changed if I didn’t want to. Now some of the scars are fading, some I can barely see, others just don’t exist anymore, those scars are symbolic of the struggle I went through. They were huge and so painful to deal with and seemed like they would never end, but some of the things I struggled with when I was 15 I barely struggle with now and others just don’t exist.
I personally would not change what I went through, if I could go back I don’t think I would change it. I would not erase a single scar. Each scar changed who I was and I would not be the person I am today had I not lived that experience, had I not chosen to survive. I may hate the way I behaved or the things I did but I hang onto the hope that one day my story might help someone else. I know how hard things can be sometimes, how dark the world may feel and how sometimes you believe that there is not a single person out there that honestly and truly cares if you are alive or dead. I know how it feels to cry until you can’t cry anymore and wishing that someone, anyone would just acknowledge that you are alive. I know how it feels to think everyone else would be so much better off if you had never been born or weren’t alive anymore to screw everything up. I know what all of that feels like- I felt it all and I want to tell you it’s all a lie!
There have been so many things I never would have experienced if I had ended my life, I never would have experienced my first date, my first kiss, my first heartbreak. I never would have been elected to be a student body officer or played basketball in high school. I never would have met the friends I have now or be attending the amazing school I am now. Things may get dark and they may be hard but it’s not the end; there is a light at the end of the tunnel no matter how dark it is. In Batman Harvey Dent says that it is always darkest just before the dawn. I am living testament of that. At 15 my life was dark: I lived in the pit of despair but the light that now resides in my life, that dawn, it is worth it. I promise! I can’t promise that things will immediately be easier and that once you make the decision to change all will be downhill from there. What I will promise is that it is worth it.
I am human and I still struggle, there are days I can feel that depressing darkness start to overwhelm me, and I know if I let it continue I will end up sitting on my bed with a razor blade asking the question if I should or should not cut. When I start to feel that darkness creeping in I repeat my ‘I Am’s and lace up my running shoes. Running has given me an avenue to clear my head, and every time I am done with a run I feel better and the darkness has receded. Joshua 1:9- “Have I not commanded thee? Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for The Lord thy God is with thee withersoever thou goest.” I know that God will always be there for me no matter how alone I am or how alone I feel. With Him I can do all things. I can survive and with Him all of my scars will heal."-Anonymous
"To say I understood how it all happened or why things turned out the way they did would be a lie. I don’t know how or why anything happened the way that it did. At 15 life seemed like it was at its all-time low. Things at my home were not ideal, years of verbal abuse finally pushed me to my breaking point. I was lonely and wading through pools of pain and darkness. Being a 15 year old I didn’t know how to reach out for help or who even to reach out to. All at once thoughts of suicide started to creep into my mind, I wanted nothing more than to end the misery and torment that was currently life. I thought there were no other option and that the only way to escape the pain I would have to end my life. I was drowning in pain and darkness but no one around could see, no one would pull me out or show me the way to safety. I constantly thought about how to end my life and how much better it would be once I was finally gone. I told myself that I would not be missed and everyone would be so much better when I was gone, I told myself that I was unimportant and once I was gone no one would even notice. I believed every last one of these lies, but I was too scared to actually end my life, when one day I came across something on the internet a silly saying about cutting.
I became so numb to all feeling and blocked everyone out. I thought before that there was no one there for me, but in truth because I was in such a dark place I blocked anyone that could help me out. I had so many chances to get help but I wasn’t ready to give up my addiction. I hurt the people that were closest to me. I lost dear friends and damaged relationships. Cutting wasn’t something that only affected me, cutting changed me. I became more reclusive, less willing to open up, because every time I was hurting I went to my razor blade to solve the problem. I lied about the problems I was having and pretended the real issue behind my behavior didn’t exist.
It wasn’t until my senior year of high school that I finally broke that addiction. There were times I could go a full year without sitting down with the razor blade, but when things got too tough I would find myself in the same situation. Music blaring and crying uncontrollably, some days I would sit with my razor blade in-hand, just staring at it, trying so hard not to cut. Some days I would succeed and be able to walk away from it, and other days I gave in to the addiction. The process of breaking that addiction was not an easy one, to this day I still struggle. When life gets hard and it seems like there is no happy ending in sight, or when it seems like everything I do is just so horribly wrong I want to run back to the razor blade. I want to cut. I want to feel that release, to feel like the pain that has been gripping my heart is gone. But I don’t! Why? For the longest time I would wake up every morning and look at myself in the mirror. I could see each and every scar. I was so ashamed of them. So ashamed that I hadn’t been strong enough, that I was too weak to resist the temptation. I was not good enough to make it through and those scars were a constant reminder of my failure. I hated them and I hated myself for them. I let those scars turn into a new addiction: an addiction to self-loathing.
I put myself down every chance I got. I told myself that I wasn’t good enough to be loved by someone else because I had made mistakes when I was younger, I told myself I was broken and damaged goods and those scars were proof. They were proof that I was worth nothing. I was the damaged box on the grocery store shelf that no one wanted simply because it looked damaged. Breaking the mental abuse cycle has been so much more difficult than stopping the physical abuse. My mind and my thinking has shifted though, it has been a long process and it is one that will probably never end.
Each morning and every night before I go to bed I look in the mirror and tell myself “I have integrity, I am hardworking and loyal, I am strong, I am capable, I am beautiful, I am intelligent, I am worthy of all that is good, I am confident, and I am me.” At first I didn’t believe the things I was saying to my reflection; I couldn’t or just wouldn’t see it, but now I know that I am each one of those things and more. When I see the scars on my wrist, on my legs and on my thighs they aren’t reminders of my failures or a reminder that I wasn’t strong enough. They are a reminder that I am still here: that because I am here I can make a difference. I see those scars and I hate them but they are evidence that I survived. I made the choice to change and I did.
I had so many countless angels that helped me along the way and I couldn’t have done it without them, but I had to make the choice to stop and to change first. Others could have made the decision for me but I never would have changed if I didn’t want to. Now some of the scars are fading, some I can barely see, others just don’t exist anymore, those scars are symbolic of the struggle I went through. They were huge and so painful to deal with and seemed like they would never end, but some of the things I struggled with when I was 15 I barely struggle with now and others just don’t exist.
I personally would not change what I went through, if I could go back I don’t think I would change it. I would not erase a single scar. Each scar changed who I was and I would not be the person I am today had I not lived that experience, had I not chosen to survive. I may hate the way I behaved or the things I did but I hang onto the hope that one day my story might help someone else. I know how hard things can be sometimes, how dark the world may feel and how sometimes you believe that there is not a single person out there that honestly and truly cares if you are alive or dead. I know how it feels to cry until you can’t cry anymore and wishing that someone, anyone would just acknowledge that you are alive. I know how it feels to think everyone else would be so much better off if you had never been born or weren’t alive anymore to screw everything up. I know what all of that feels like- I felt it all and I want to tell you it’s all a lie!
There have been so many things I never would have experienced if I had ended my life, I never would have experienced my first date, my first kiss, my first heartbreak. I never would have been elected to be a student body officer or played basketball in high school. I never would have met the friends I have now or be attending the amazing school I am now. Things may get dark and they may be hard but it’s not the end; there is a light at the end of the tunnel no matter how dark it is. In Batman Harvey Dent says that it is always darkest just before the dawn. I am living testament of that. At 15 my life was dark: I lived in the pit of despair but the light that now resides in my life, that dawn, it is worth it. I promise! I can’t promise that things will immediately be easier and that once you make the decision to change all will be downhill from there. What I will promise is that it is worth it.
I am human and I still struggle, there are days I can feel that depressing darkness start to overwhelm me, and I know if I let it continue I will end up sitting on my bed with a razor blade asking the question if I should or should not cut. When I start to feel that darkness creeping in I repeat my ‘I Am’s and lace up my running shoes. Running has given me an avenue to clear my head, and every time I am done with a run I feel better and the darkness has receded. Joshua 1:9- “Have I not commanded thee? Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for The Lord thy God is with thee withersoever thou goest.” I know that God will always be there for me no matter how alone I am or how alone I feel. With Him I can do all things. I can survive and with Him all of my scars will heal."-Anonymous
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