just writing....about self harm

"This isn’t a perfect world, people do get hurt.. you smile when you are feeling like crying.. you act like your okay when your falling apart inside.. and you let it go.."

~unknown~

It has been more than ten years,  i dont know how i managed to go so long hurting myself.  I never used to call  it hurting myself because i did not understand that was what i was doing.  I knew I was cutting, I was burning, I banged my wrist on the walls, all i wanted was to make the pain that was inside of me stop.  I didnt realize that the scars wont go away, or that i would be asked what happened over and over and over again.  I have two cats, they scratched me, or well i was in an accident as a child, so many excuses. I promised myself that i would be able to control it.  I promised myself that it would be okay.  I made myself believe that it was okay. 

I started cutting in high school, i broke apart shavers and picked out the small razors.  Tools of the trade can be anything the person wants.  if you want it bad enough, then it is possible to find a way.  Razors, scissors, staples,glass, knives, broken things, sharp things.  anything that will bring you relief from life, from living, from feeling. I wanted to feel nothing, i had been hurt so much that i no longer wanted to feel.  I knew how to associate pain with love and so pain became my punishment.  I could make myself hurt. I could make myself believe that this would be the last time.  i thought that as long s no one knew why would it matter.  As long as i wasnt hurting anyone else why should anyone care.  I was very careful, I was very controlled. I cut but I believed I deserved the pain.  I believed that I was just getting to the inevitable.  I learned that i was my own worst enemy and that i could take anything that i dished out.  no amount of hurting myself was enough, there was always something else.  a memory, a feeling, being hurt, picked on, harmed.  the cutting that i believed i could control became a daily thing.  i kept my razors on me all the time.  i had to have them at all times incase i needed them. Sometimes I took care of the cuts, and i spent a lot of money on first aid supplies.  

I went to college, and things got worse.  I was by myself, pushed into a world that i wasnt prepared for and did not know how to handle.  cutting was my escape, cutting was all mine and no one could make me stop. it didnt matter that the cuts moved from my arms to my legs.  in my anger and pain i cut any and everywhere. i didnt care, i was positive no one would ever see the scars.  i was positive that i would outwit anyone would tried to ask questions or who tried to help.  on the surface i was just a quiet girl, who appeared to be managing, who apperared to be getting by.  no one would think to question the scars that appeared or the bandages that never seemed to go away.  

I was in and out of therapy during college. suddenly i was being told that i was harming myself, that it wasnt okay to cut.  that it wasnt okay to hurt myself.  i didnt understand why anyone would tell me that when i believed with my whole heart that i was worthless, that i deserved to hurt, that it was okay as long as i wasnt hurting anyone else. i thought everyone else was trying to take away from escape. they wanted me to stop, they told me to stop, they threatened, and bribed and guilted me until they got the answers they wanted.  i said okay.  i said i would stop.  i tried to stop but the urges were stronger.  i got better at hiding them, i started burning because they were easier to hide and care for.  no one could take away what i wanted and i wanted to hurt. i needed to hurt. i needed to be able to get away from the pain and the hurt that had stayed inside of me for so long. 

the years passed and cutting stayed with me. i went through college, and graduated. i got a job. i held multiple jobs, and still no one seemed to notice or care.  i did my job. i was just a little bit quiet.  i was a little bit of a loner.  no one needed to know about the razors, the knives, or anything else i was using.  i didnt want to tell anyone ..i didnt want anyone to know of my behaviors that i considered shameful. i was ashamed of the scars that formed. i was frustrated that i couldnt stop.  i was in and out of therapy but i wasnt good at expressing myself verbally.  

to be continued