Yes, I know I'm one day late to this. I wrote this post a few days ago, but worked all day yesterday and completely lost track of time. So here it is. The point still stands. At any rate, every day should be self-injury awareness day because you should always be aware. This is an incredibly personal post and I debated for quite a while whether I wanted to share it, but I hope that by sharing my story I can help someone else.
As many of you know, March 1st is Self-Injury Awareness Day. My battle with self-injury is not a public one. The people closest to me know about it, and that’s how I like it. Though I was sent to therapy many years ago for cutting and the problem seemingly went away, I think it’s important to say that it doesn’t go away. Ever. Self-injury is, for some people, and for some reason, the way our body copes with stress/sadness/life in general. Though it has gotten much easier to manage over the years, it is still a definite struggle to find new and better ways to cope with things. No matter how far I go and how much I accomplish, the scars will always be on my body to remind me.
I remember first having the thought of self-harm in the beginning of my 7th grade year. I don’t remember what caused it. When I looked down at my arm, I saw the hair tie I always wore around my wrist. I started snapping it. The area became red and inflamed, but I kept going. I had no idea why I was doing it, I just knew that I wanted to do it. Needed to do it. This soon progressed to actual cutting. I always hear people say that it was a way to let the emotions escape, like cutting a slit in your arm somehow let the sadness escape. I never felt that way. I never felt anything except a desire and need to do it. It made me feel better. For a few minutes, I was only thinking about that cut and that blood and nothing else.
Growing up with my mom and step-dad meant constant fighting. I don’t remember a single day in that house when there weren’t screaming matches. I would go to my room, shut my door, and just cut. That was my escape. How else could I escape? The music could only go so loud. I distinctly remember one fight. We were right in the middle of celebrating my sister’s birthday, cake and all. I don’t know what started it, but my mom and stepdad were at it. Again. I left the table, went to my room, and did cut after cut after cut. And I was proud of those. I mean, I didn’t go showing them off, but every time I looked at them, I was proud. Each one was a story. It’s sick, I know, but I was proud of them.
In a moment I regretted for years afterwards, I let my guard down and my long-sleeve shirt slipped up my arm, revealing my cuts. My dad asked me what happened. I told him I had hurt myself on accident, but it was very clear that whatever had happened to my arm was no accident. I pulled the sleeve down as fast as I could and went on. I don’t remember exactly what happened after that, but I know that within a few days I was in a doctor’s office and the doctor said he wanted me to check in to a mental hospital and that he wasn’t sure he could let me leave because he thought I might be a risk to myself. I was so angry - at the doctor, at my parents. They were taking away the one thing I loved, the only way I had to escape anything. I convinced him I was fine enough to go home. After all, I had been living this way for many years and wasn’t dead yet. I was sent home with prescriptions for anti-anxiety medication and anti-depressants. I was also assigned to a therapist I was to see weekly. For a long time, I just moved my cuts from my arm to my legs since no one could see them. Eventually things got better and I learned new ways of coping. I never made the decision to stop, it just sort of happened. Pretty soon I was going 2 days without cutting, then 5, then a month, then years. I think 3 years was my record. During a difficult time about 6 months ago, I briefly had difficulty with self-harm again, which is not something I’ve talked about with anyone. It came back with a vengeance. It consumed my entire thoughts. I cut more in a month-long span than I did in 4 years. And no one noticed that anything was wrong. I say this not because I am upset by this - trust me, I didn’t want anyone to notice. I say this because it’s self-injury awareness day, and I think it’s important to be aware. Be aware of the people around you and any differences you see. Just because you don’t see the cuts or the scars, don’t assume they’re not there.
I have complete faith that I’ll be fine, and after my little set-back I feel better than ever and more positive than ever, and I hope that by writing this I have helped at least one person in even the smallest of ways.
