The Cutter

I will not lie to those who ask me about the scar(s) on my wrists. Why should I? I can't deny that they aren't there... they are and always will be. 

I bring this up because a friend of mine was on a roll asking me questions about myself, about my depression, suicide attempts, medication, etc. They were only being curious to get to know me better, I know this. 

The questions left me in a state of reflection. Why did I do this to myself? Why did I let myself get so sad? Why was there no one there to listen? Or was someone there and I refused to talk? 

Obviously to begin with, I was sad. Point Blank. Unfortunately, I was very sad. Too sad that normal chats and tissues couldn't fix the problem. Ben and Jerry's couldn't help me at this point in my life. 

Losing someone you love is NEVER easy. I have never dealt with death in the healthiest manner, I know this. No one takes someone's death easy.... even if you know they are dying, it still hurts. 

When I lost my first grandmother, that was where I can remember just being so sad that I didn't want to get out of bed. My mom was lucky that I got up in the mornings and went to school. Once at school, I put on a face.... no one ever knew how sad I was.  I was also dealing with typical teen drama, puppy love, friend issues, etc. This didn't help my situation any. 

I didn't plan on cutting myself. I don't think that something like this is ever planned. If it is, I am out of the loop. It happened after I broke one of those cheap disposable razors by stepping on it in the bathroom. I cut myself on it as I was cleaning up. I had already been crying because of something or another, just like always. When the first drop of blood rolled down my finger and I felt the pain left behind, my mind became more interested in the physical pain I had just experienced than the emotional pain I had been hurting from earlier. 

This started a vicious cycle. I began cutting my wrists, on both sides. I would bandage them up and then wear long sleeves, or a coverup of sorts so that no one could see. I would enjoy the feeling of the cut. With each fresh slice I forgot about what was hurting me inside, and put all of my focus to the pain on the outside. 

Trust me, I know this sounds sick and twisted to someone who has never experienced a depression, but this is real. When you are a cutter, well, at least for me, you use the physical pain to cover up or hide the emotional pain you are dealing with. It is a way for the emotions to be hidden, or hide for a time. Unfortunately they don't hide very long, and you are right where you started, except this time you have physical scars to hide. Explaining why you are wearing long sleeves in the middle of summer, or why your wrists are bandaged is hard to do. You become good at making up stories. You become a liar. 

Eventually I conquered the cutting. For the most part. I have not cut myself in a couple of years. I can not say if I will never do it again. I know and understand what I am doing when I do it. It is hard to not think about it when I am hurting over something so bad that I just want everything to disappear. Or when I want myself to disappear. I just try to tell myself that this is not something I want my children to ever do.... and remind myself that what I do effects them. 

After thinking about the conversation my friend and I had, I wanted to write my story. I'm not trying to start a crusade or anything, I just think that people should know. If you do know that someone is doing this to themselves, talk to them. Or if you do this to yourself, and need to talk, I understand and am here. 

Thanks for reading this if you got through it all the way! 

Hugs to all of my friends! 

Love ya! 

All of the photos are from We Heart It