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So I've taken razors to my wrists. And I sometimes decorate my skin with the indentions made by safety pins and knifes. I have scars covering my left arm. But why???
Sometimes I try to explain this to people, and it really makes me angry when they don't understand. But the thing is, you can't understand unless you've been through it. See, everyone seems to think that when I take a sharp object to my body and cut until the bloods flows, that I am trying to kill myself. But that's not it at all. If I had ever really wanted to be dead, then I wouldn't be writing this right now.
Sometimes (actually a lot of the time), my emotional pain is so thick and cloudy that I can't even begin to understand it. But when the pain is physical; when the blood is flowing; That's a pain I can understand. It makes me feel better. Like I'm still alive. Like - "hey, I haven't given up yet. I'm here and I can make it through this." But sometimes, just in order to make it through the day, I need to feel that physical pain. I need to see that reminder of life.
And with each time I bring out the razor, I get stronger. I don't enjoy the idea of cutting myself and then having to hide it from everyone, including myself. So last time I cut myself, I made a promise to myself that I would NEVER do that again. I am trying to find better vices to escape my emotional pain.
And so far, things have worked out well. The last time I was on the verge of grabbing a razor, I grabbed my mother instead. I told her exactly how I was feeling and exactly what I wanted her to do about it. I told her to call the hospital; that I really needed to go in-treatment. She called immidiatly, and was calm, while I was most certainly not. I was admitted into the hospital that night.
At first the expieriance was very scary to me. I didn't know anyone and I am naturally a very shy person. But eventually, people started talking to me, and I have to say, it was the greatest bunch of girls I had ever met. They had all been through similar expieriances; some worse, some not as bad. Thier cases varied from drugs, child abuse, running away, self-mutilation, depression, suicidal thoughts or attempts, and pyschosis. The enviroment was very structured. You always had something to do. There were group meetings about three times a day, and these were my favourite. I was free to say anything I pleased. I could express myself through cussing, crying, or laughing; no one would judge you for anything you had to say. We also went to school and gym and crafts and did yoga at the end of every day. I'de have to say the only drawbacks were the hospital food and the fact that the girl in the next room wanted to kill me because I had the same name as her mother.
Since I've been out, I feel a lot better and I now know better ways to escape from my emotional pain, rather than cutting myself. I now write, as I am doing here, read (about feminism), listen to music, and play me geetar.
Sometimes when I'm angry at someone, I'll write them a letter, telling them exactly how they have hurt or betrayed me, and then I will rip it up and throw it away. Just as long as I get those feelings out and don't keep them bottled up inside.
Links to other sites on the Web
Lisa's page: stories on rape, victimiztion, grrrl issues, and self-mutilation
Secret Shame: includes information on self-mutilation and on-line support groups
"I could get a piece of meat from a barren tree. Nothing ever spoiled on me...You brought this - You dipshit. Nothing ever spoiled on me...That cloud stomps around my house, does whatever it pleases, it teases me, what the hell? Never was a baritone, till you stepped in. Never dried my halters on the line. This hairdo's truely evil, I don't think it's mine. You;re so tall, it's like I climb a waterfall...What I said was get me a drink, alright? What am I supposed to sit and look at you all night? All girls cry. Like I said, I don't know why." - Kristen Hersh
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