"It's Been a While Since I Could Say That I Wasn't Addicted and It's Been a While Since I Could Say I Love Myself As Well."

I'd always assumed the inclination toward self-destruction started when I was thirteen, when I woke up that morning on April the first, and suddenly found myself without the will to live. I'd always thought I had been okay prior to that morning.

When I think on it, though, I realize I've always had a propensity toward self-abuse. I'd always been intrigued by violence. I had a surprisingly high tolerance for pain, even at an early age. And while I never actually purposely inflicted real bodily harm on myself until I was thirteen, I'd never been afraid of it. I remmeber how, if I was upset with myself, I would bang my head repeatedly against the wall in the hallway. I remember how I quickly built up callouses on my feet, as I was always barefoot, because for some reason, the pain of stepping on sharp gravel and pine needles was something a certain part of me actually enjoyed. I bit myself just because the marks it left intrigued me; I hit my own arms because for some reason, I felt as though I just deserved it.
I never had thought much about it before. It was just a part of who I was.

It was after the depression hit shortly before I turned thirteen-and-a-half tha t the more serious self-abuse began. One night, I was making tea and suddenly became overwhelmed with the urge to just pour the boiling water on my hands. I started cutting myself; oh, they were fairly trivial cuts at first, not much more than scratches, but they gradually became worse. I stopped eating for a time, but my best friend (at the time) noticed and put an end to it.

When I started therapy and began taking anti-depressants, the self-abuse stopped for a time. Then it started. Then it stopped again. And once again it started. It was something I could never truly get away from. Whenever I was upset, whenever I felt as though I didn't have control of all that was happening to me and around me, the insatiable urge returned.

During high school, I continued, on and off. I'd obtained a small pair of scissors, and ah, they were sharp. They became my closest friend. They were always in my purse- I broguht them with me everywhere. I would sneak off to the locker room during lunch, bringing a handful of paper towels with me so that the blood wouldn't stain my clothing. I'm not certain if anyone ever noticed the bloody paper towels in the garbage; if they did, they probably didn't think much on it. Toward the beginning of every school year, for the first several weeks of September, the self-harm was particularly bad. I reached a point where my entire left arm was covered. The cuts were not shallow, but somehow, I managed to hardly scar at all. I suppose I'm fortunate. My senior year, I started cutting my shoulders. I found it was far easier to hide, for I could continue to wear short sleeves without anyone noticing. Finally, when I turned eighteen, I decided I couldn't live like that anymore. I got a tattoo on my wrist; a simple tattoo, aye, but it meant something to me. It meant a lot to me. And I haven't cut myself since then.

I thought perhaps I was finally rising above it. The urge was always there, aye, but I was able to overcome it. Despite everything I was going through, I didn't let the self-abuse consume me.

In February 2009, I started doing poorly again. Incredibly poorly. Why, I couldn't really tell you, for I honestly haven't much of an idea myself. But while I didn't actually go back to cutting, I found other ways to abuse my body. Less obvious ways. I stopped eating as much. I hardly slept. I consumed far too much caffeine. They seem unimpressive, I know, and they were. But they weren't good for me, and that was what mattered. I also started smoking regularly, which I also knew to not be good for me. It didn't matter. I quit smoking two months later; it was hell, quitting, but I couldn't afford it. I was still a mess, but I gradually started doing better.

Then I graduated. I'd been so looking forward to that moment, and it was glorious, ah, it was glorious. But it wasn't even a week later that the depression returned, stronger than ever.

It's still there.

I've stopped eating as much again. I've started drinking far too much caffeine. I found a full-time job, and suddenly could afford cigarettes. So I am now smoking once again. And I haven't returned to cutting, no, but I found something else: there is an area on my left arm that is now covered in burns. Cigarette burns. And it hurts far worse than cutting ever did. I don't even try to hide it; I don't even care anymore.

Or so I like to tell myself.

But every time I put out another cigarette on my arm, every time I feel that sharp pain coursing through my body, every time I look at that scattering of burns, and it's so ugly, it's so ugly.... I can't help but wonder what is so wrong with me.



So love, heed my warning, please. Never ever start. Self-abuse is an addiction. It never truly leaves. No matter how hard you try, it never leaves. Get out while you still have a chance. Please.

SheistheLorax SheistheLorax
18-21, F
5 Responses Jul 2, 2009

It is like you are living in my exact shoes accept I am younger. I have been through so much and on june 28th the day after I was molested I decided to end my life or at least attempt. This was after struggling for 4 years with cutting. Self abuse when My dad and his gf noticed too was put on antidepressants but I stopped and was moving all around. running and cutting seemed to be my only escape. So after being hospitalized and a month of intense therapy here I am over a month cut and panic attack free, but scared....3

I have had some extreme lows in my life where i have felt worthless and had self-destructive habits i sought professional help and i am so glad i did your behavior more than likely stems from something that you can find peace with there are agencies that can help with expense look online for your area good luck

Get in to therapy as soon as u can ... life is full of sadness.. but over come it n reach out for the happiness... do what you believe.. u believe its wrong ... so you should stop it.. and thats how u ll find happiness to your soul .. =) .. wish you good luck in your future... hope to see you improving yourself..

This is shocking, reading my soul in another's words.<br />
I can honestly say that I think I understand. I really do. Nearly everything you've said is true for me- I'm younger than you are, and so I haven't a job or surplus cash, and I haven't smoked, but cutting, caffeine, sleep deprivation... I've done them as well, and I get what you meant when you said they were important. I haven't scarred much either, and part of me wants to- is that sick?<br />
I think you should try going back to therapy, if at all possible. I don't want to see anything happen to you.<br />
Your story really struck home with me. Feel free to message me any time.<br />
Best wishes.

There are other ways to deal with depression than self abuse. You really should find someone professional to visit and talk to. Such a beautiful young lady, it would be a shame to see you totally screw up your life at such and early age. Please go visit a professional and get new depression medicine. And let me know how you are doing. <br />
<br />
PS: If I ever find you with a cigarette in your mouth or hand, I going to jerk it right out and stomp it out. I know, been smoking for over 40 years and it does have a cumulative effect...