[T R I G G E R W A R N I N G:]
This post contains graphic descriptions of self harm and potentially triggering content. Remember to practice self care before, during & after reading if you choose to continue. Know your limits, and use your judgement. Continue at your own discretion.
I am a cutter. I started cutting when I was around eleven or twelve, and managed to stop when I was about 14 or so - that is, until 2019. I had a major relapse in April of 2019 and I've been working towards recovery again ever since. Unfortunately, recovery is not a consistent upward trajectory, and I've relapsed a few times. During one of my relapses, I wrote about cutting. I never intended to share what I had written, but I feel like if I only share my victories and the palatable, bright and shiny parts of my recovery, I'm not sharing the whole picture. Sharing the whole picture and walking this journey in a public way was the whole point to me starting Sad Out Loud and so after some review and talking it through with people I trust, I've decided to share what I wrote during this dark and trying time in my fight to stop harming myself.
Please be assured that I am not currently in the same mental state now that I was in when I wrote the following words, and my only goal here is transparency and showing the full spectrum of what living with severe mental illness can look and sound like.
[ T R I G G E R W A R N I N G: ]
The following contains graphic descriptions of my own self harm and my personal thought process when I was in a not so great place. Read at your own discretion, and only if you are in the right head space to do so. Do not continue reading if you are at high risk of relapsing yourself, your recovery is more important than my desire to share.
The thing about cutting myself is that I actually like it. I like bleeding. I like feeling the blade slide across and through my skin, the burning sensation it leaves afterwards. I like how angry and inflamed my skin gets and watching the scars emerge as the inflammation subsides and the cuts start to heal with ugly little scabs. In a really fucked up way, I like the marks that get left. I don't hide them because i dislike them or because i'm completely ashamed of what I do to myself, but because I'd rather not field uncomfortable questions from people who don't get it. I don't blame the people who don't get it. I'm happy they don't, they probably have no idea just how lucky they are that they don't understand.
Part of me wants to show them off. Not in a "look how fucked up i am, please pity me" kind of way. The pity is why i hide them while they heal. No, the reason i wanna show them off is a little more fucked up than that. I wanna show them off so I can say "look what i did, isn't this so much better? You can see the hurt now, it makes sense. Aren't these ugly little lines up and down my arms and thighs perfect? The way they make the outside match the inside?"
Yeah. I almost wish I did this shit for attention. That would probably be easier to digest.
Sometimes I count the slits as the swelling goes down, but sometimes there are just too many or they overlap too much, or they're placed over old scars, or stretch marks, and getting an accurate count just isn't an option. As they heal, I often find myself running my fingers over the newly forming scars. I find a macabre kind of comfort in the reminder.
It has become something that's just for me because who the hell gives a shit anyway?
Reading this back for editing now that I am in a more stable place, I feel at once like I'm reading my own words and the words of a stranger. From where I am now, I can't even fathom the level of pain behind these words, but I know exactly how far down I was when I wrote. I think this is what's so important about documenting and sharing the bad, and the really bad, along with the good, the triumphs, and even the mundane. I want more people to see that it's okay to share these things and find the support you need to move through these impossibly heavy problems. It's okay to not be okay, and it's okay if that looks a little ugly. You still deserve respect, compassion, and care.
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