Thursday, May 24, 2012


i am giving myself 20 minutes to do this blog post. then i need to go get some other things done.

my experience with self injury* has been on my mind. a little thought that keeps bobbing up and down, up and down. i really want to write about something else .. like therapeutic breathing and how much that has helped me. but, i learned in the shower (seriously some of my best thoughts come from there) that part of me loving and accepting myself completely - and presenting my whole story - is writing about my self injury.

i don't remember the date of when i first cut, but i remember the mood. i was dark. angry. mad. absolutely pissed off. i could feel darkness around me. i had the curtains shut tight in my room, door closed and locked, knife held preciously in my hand. i have no idea where the thought originated or how i knew that cutting would "help" because that's not something they teach you in kindergarten. but i just knew, if i cut myself, on my thigh, as deep as i could, that i would feel better. i had not been able to cry. all of the build up of emotions and no outlet. so i cut.

i remember the sharp zing of the knife as it slid in my skin. the pain didn't register. i cut 5 times, leaving four beautiful marks.

the physical aspect of it was wonderful. i finally broke down and started sobbing. and i did feel better. so much better. the endorphins released gave me a high of sorts, lifting me from the darkness back into my sort of light reality. and then the pain came. and it was glorious. it burned and stung for days. and the blood. so red. so real. it showed me that i was still alive, that i could feel, that i could function. i loved watching it ooze out of my skin.

to me, at that time, it was proof. proof that i was hurting. proof that my pain mattered. that what i was going through counts. it was physical proof of emotional pain.

and i loved those marks.

over the next months i would go on to cut my other leg, my sides by my hip, my chest from my breast bone down to my belly button, my neck, and my arm. the more my pain grew the more desperate i became with the cutting. i started where people wouldn't see and ended up in very obvious places.

there are lyrics from two songs that continuously play in my head when i think about self injury. one from maroon 5 "sometimes these cuts are so much deeper than they seem. you'd rather cover up. i'd rather let them bleed." and bleed they did. i hated putting band aids on my cuts. and the second "scars remind us that the past is real."

during my dark months i was stuck in the first song. driven to prove that though they looked like nothing, my pain was deep and real. and i wanted the blood. i wanted to feel life. now i feel like i've moved to the second song. i haven't cut in almost 4 months. but my scars remind me of my past. and reminders are ok. good even.

i do have my favorite cuts. the ones on my arm. i see them everyday and am reminded of all that i've been through to come to where i am.

*self injury is not good. it is not emotionally or physically healthy. it was part of my journey but i hope you won't read this and experiment with it. it is nothing to take lightly. if you are struggling with this or know someone who is there is so much good information at type in "self injury" in the search box. though cutting was part of my journey, i hope it's not part of yours.*

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