A Seven Year Struggle
It's hard for me to type this out because I'm used to keeping it inside. I've been self-mutilating myself for seven years. It started when I was thirteen and I was just emerging from years of intense bullying. I was also trying to cope with my newly disagnosed panic disorder and ADD. I remember the first time I did it. I did it and realized I wasn't scared of it and I didn't flinch or cry when I started bleeding. Weeks after that first try, my arms quickly because covered in cuts of all directions. Not thinking that no one could ever know, I had to wear sweaters during the hottest summer days and my parents began to wonder about it. But knowing that I had a self-image problem, I told them I was only comfortable wearing sweaters because I felt fat.
When I graduated grade eight I stopped cutting for one summer. When I started high school, my panic attacks came back with a vengence and I missed almost a month of my first semester. My mom was worried I'd never be able to get back to school and my dad was angry that I couldn't do it. I was put on a low dosage of the anti-psychotic medication called Ripsridol. I was able to return to school but the medication made me put on a lot of weight. Having already been bullied for my weight and suffered extremely low self-esteem, the extra weight I had to put on in exchange for my panic attacks took a toll on me. I began cutting again.
My parents caught me this time, and threatened to send me to a place. I don't know exactly what it is but I know it's a place where they keep teenagers who are a threat to themselves. They live there unil they're allowed to leave and go home. Terrified, I stopped cutting again for a year.
When my parents started arguing and I found out my dad cheated on my mom it triggered the urge to do it again. My weight was rapidly increasing due to me being a stress eater and before I knew it, I'd started again and since then I haven't stopped. I discontinued cutting my arms for fear of something- anyone- finding out. I began to cut on my upper thighs and stomach. No one ever sees those parts of me anyway- cuts or not.
I guess my problem is... is that I don't want to stop. I don't feel like I need to. It doesn't get in the way of my life and I don't think I could stop even if I wanted to. It's the only thing I feel in control of sometimes. It makes me feel strong. To be able to cut open my own skin deliberitly, to be able to do it more than once, to not stop after the first time... it makes me feel like there's something I can do to myself to as a form of punishment and release at the same time.
So that's my story