I Remember. It's hard to forget. No matter how hard you try, no matter how many times you tell yourself "it wasn't that bad," when you close your eyes, the feeling of cool metal pressed firmly up against your skin never goes away. It still haunts you. The hatred in the form of burning passion directed at the hand as it begins to drag the sharpness slowly across your skin, tearing it at is molecular seems. You despise it-every goddamn second, and yet you cannot help but to sigh with relief, leaning into the force that is being applied.
You shouldn't let them do this to you. It's wrong, you know, yet, as blood begins to bead, you're mystified, unable to speak, unable to scream at the person to stop. Some days are worse than others. It was never that bad, but it still happened, and it no longer mattered where. When the pressure leaves, an abrupt chill fills your body, despite the heat of your exposed flesh, the terrifying comfort of warmth only returns when the blade does.
Sometimes their vicious in their pursuit, sometimes slow. Sometimes the rhythm of it matches the heavy beat of music drumming in your ears, though usually your mind was so blank you could hardly hear it, but at that point, blank was better than thinking.
And suddenly it's over. The person behind the blade slips the object in your hand and retreats back into your mind, and as you set the knife down and look up into the mirror, only your tear stained smile is left staring back at you. Your eyes drift to admire your work: Beautiful, delicate, and best of all, it won't scar.
Some say it's acts like this that are simply a cry for attention, but if you really wanted people to pay mind to your problems why would you cover it up with long shirts and jackets? You might want help and are afraid to ask, or maybe you don't want to bother anybody, but whatever this is, it is not a cry for anything. All of the pain you feel, hate for yourself and feelings of failure. That feeling of needing to be punished, even for feeling what you do at all, it is a relief to get what you believe you deserve…but it is not just that. This…this feeling you have, you need to make it tangible, to prove, if at least to yourself, that it's not just in your head, that you are not crazy. What you feel, what you are going through, it's real. I mean, just look! It is there on your arm! It's not just a phase or hormones or being sad, it consumed your entire being, it's real, it's chronic, and it's killing you. It's yourself, or better yet, your depression and self hatred. You want to tell, to get help, but you are afraid. No one will understand. They'd be better off without you.
Except you're wrong
You don't have to be alone. There are people who love you, reasons to live. Looking back now, fingers feeling the smooth tape that wraps my blade, I had people who loved me, who could've been willingly there for me if I'd only asked. Some people abandoned me, but that only made way for those who matter to walk into my life with.
I am worth something.
Everybody is worth something.
I know this now, although it was difficult to understand then. I am stronger too, and more full of love than ever. That can be anybody. Putting my hand up to my shoulder, I still feel blood smearing as it cools. I can feel the pain, see the horror, but I no longer submit to the dark, it submits to me!
You are in control; you just need to take that first step.
If you or a loved one is self-harming, call 1-800-DONT CUT (1-800-366-8288)
Remember to always believe in yourself, imagine the future you will have if you get through this, so much more understanding and compassion in your heart.
Together we can get through this, now and forever.