Time Heals, Scars Fade...

I was 13 and in the eighth grade. I remember walking around the track with my first boyfriend. A friend came rushing over to us holding her arm, her sweatshirt was red. But on the arm her sweatshirt was covered in what appeared to be blood. I remember being in shock and thinking why would you do that? Why would you do that at school. Pam ended up going to the hospital.

It was a few weeks later when I realized I hadnt  been doing so well emotionally and I hurt so badly inside. I was on the phone with my boyfriend. I grabbed something sharp and told him I was going to hurt myself. I dont think he realized how much pain I was in or how serious I was. He told me he would cut to. I showed up the next day to school with my arm wrapped in gauze. I'd hidden it all from my mother. When he saw how bad i'd done it he drew me close and showed me his. In all honesty his looked as though they could've been cat scratches.

A couple days passed. My worst fear happend...I was called down to the counseling office and forced to show my secret. I spent the next three days in an emotional break down in that office. the third day my parents were brought in. I was referred to a mental health counselor. To make a long story short on that, I lied my way out of counseling. I didnt think i needed or wanted help.

My depression continued. In ninth grade Matt and I broke up. I wanted him back but he wouldnt give me the time of day. I sat in the dark screaming and rocking back and forth, taking a pair of manicure scissors and ripping into my flesh. I didnt sleep. I didnt eat. I didnt tell anyone. As I tried to move on from Matt I turned to cutting. eventually I stopped. The depression didnt stop. I was becoming more and more angry. I hated everyone and would fly off the handle if someone talked to me. I was becoming your classis "emo" kid. Wearing all black, listening to sad music. That summer I was so engulfed in my sadness.

Despite being depressed I decided to join colorguard for the band. I went to band camp and at the time I had a nasty cut....it was seeping green pus and hurt so bad unless i had pressure on it 24/7. I finally realized I needed help. I was scaring myself. I started going to a counselor when I got home...it was really helping and I stopped cutting.....

May 2007.  I was sexually assaulted. I blamed myself and wanted the pain that I felt on the inside to become physical. I cut my thigh, only once and then I stopped. I realized that I was stronger than the blade.

I'll admit I went 2 years without cutting myself until about 2 weeks ago. I hurt myself...the depression was under the surface. I made a tiny gash on my right leg. I havent done it since..I remembered that I'm better than the blade...I can over come this, I have before and I will again.

rubytuesday18 rubytuesday18
22-25, F
Mar 16, 2009