TRIGGER WARNING: This post discusses self-hate and self-harm.
I first heard about cutting when I was 12 or 13. My initial reaction was “Wow, you must be really hurting to choose to hurt yourself.” But I had no idea. Even a week before I first hurt myself, I still could not understand why someone would choose that.
I did it because I wanted to try it. I wanted to do it once. So I did. I told myself I would do it once that I would just scrape the surface. Just once. Not bad. No more. I did not even totally realize why I wanted to do it. I thought about it some for a couple days before doing it, but it was more just deciding when and where to do it than anything else. If I had thought about it, if I knew why I wanted to do it, I think things might have been different. I had no idea what I was getting myself into.
The following is what I wrote in my journal the day I almost did it.
I want to hurt myself, but I just don’t have the courage to do it… I’m also scared that someone will figure it out… But tonight, I’m going to do some minor stuff, with a safety pin or scissors or something sharp. Just some scratches, and maybe a few drops of blood. So just a little but not too bad…
But I didn’t do it that night. The next day, I convinced myself that I wouldn’t do it that badly and that it would be ok. So then I did it.
I couldn’t help it. I’m sorry. I didn’t do much,…. Only had a few drops of blood and some scrapes. … I’m sorry. But it felt like I didn’t have any other choice.
The thing is, I did have a choice. I didn’t have to do it. I didn’t think through it. I didn’t talk to anyone about it. And I started a living nightmare. Right away, I caught a glimpse of what I started. The next day, I wrote this.
6:15 am. Last night… I did something crazy. Something I never thought I’d actually do. And then I tried justifying it, saying it wasn’t that bad. And it wasn’t that bad, but that doesn’t change the fact that I hurt myself on purpose. I took a safety pin and scraped my skin until it bled a little. At first, I enjoyed it. It felt good. But then, as I realized what I had just started, I just felt the pain of all the years built up,… and I was just shaking and wanting to cry but not able to really cry it out… I don’t want to do this again.
1:50 pm. What did I get myself into? … Was this worth it? I’m afraid I started a chain reaction of events that will be rather difficult to stop… I want to do it again tonight. It felt good last night, until it was over…
Each time for the first week or so, almost every single time was worse than the past times. In a sense, I was gaining confidence in self-harm. Each time, I told myself that it was not bad last time and that this time it would be ok to do a little worse. Over time, minor scrapes became shallow cuts. It was an addiction. I got started, and then it became harder to stop. The more I did it, the more I wanted to do it.
A couple weeks later, I wrote this…
People can look at my smile and think I’m ok. And I am. But maybe there’s something behind it – intense fear maybe – that most people don’t see. And maybe, deep down, I’ve wanted them to see it all along. And maybe, in those few moments that I revealed what I’m hiding, I discovered who I really am. Yeah, I’m that “monster” that allowed herself to be controlled by the panic attacks… But maybe, deep down, maybe I’m also the girl that just was waiting to be told she was beautiful. Maybe I was waiting to be told that those words weren’t supposed to mean what they did. Maybe I was waiting for someone to believe that I really was hurting. Maybe the girl that everyone thought was crazy just wanted to be loved and understood. Does that make sense? Or am I that “monster”?
And then a few days later I wrote this…
To everyone that’s ever hated me, you were right. I’m an idiot. To everyone that’s ever told me I’d be better off dead, you were right. I wish I hadn’t been born right now. To everyone who has ever told me that I wasn’t worth it, you were right. If I died then, I had like no friends so it would’ve been easier to say goodbye and I would hurt way less people… To everyone that ever hurt me, I’ve been angry at you, but it’s ok now because I understand you. I’m that obnoxious, annoying, stupid, worthless idiot that you always thought I was. Thanks for being honest even though it hurt a lot. It ruined my life in a way but it showed me how awful I really am.
These were my thoughts. I hated myself. But I just wanted to be heard, to be understood. I wanted to understand why someone called me a monster when I had a panic attack that I didn’t know how to deal with. I learned quickly to keep everything inside. And then when I hurt myself I initially only told one person and even doing that much was hard.
The next day, I wrote this, which was part of what made me really want to stop.
Right now, I just feel so empty inside. I don’t know but I hardly know who I am right now… I’ve been told to be myself, but sometimes I don’t even know who that is.
Self-harm caused me to question the very foundation of who I was. I was doing things I never thought I would ever do. I was on a roller coaster that alternated between doing ok and hurting myself.
Now, I haven’t hurt myself for a while. But I still struggle with it every day. I pray every day for the strength to get through the day without doing it. Some days are worse than others. A lot of the time, I see gory images of myself covered in blood with stab and cut wounds all over. In my head, that image is portrayed as good. I fight with all my might and pray just to convince myself that the image really is not good. I fight and pray every day to not hurt myself. A lot more friends know now, so I have a lot of people to turn to for help. Finding healing has not been an easy process, but it is going. With self-harm, seemingly minor victories are major accomplishments, because each victory takes so much courage. Each day that I stay strong is another victory. And I am learning that this too can be a part of the beautiful story of my life that God is writing. It is broken, but He is making into something beautiful.