A Long, Long Road.

I started self-injuring when I was thirteen. That was the time when I started coming out to people and I thought that I should come out to my pastor first. Big mistake there. I found out just how hurtful people that are members of the clergy can be when she let me know exactly where the urges would eventually lead me. I was sure that if I just believed hard enough God would fix me, make me his child, but no matter how hard I prayed, no matter how much I insisted I was a child of God, nothing ever changed. I was never healed. I tried to kill myself once, but the resulting sickness from that showed me that it wasn't a good response to anything I may have been going through, but I wanted to hurt. I needed some way to let out all the anger and frustration and I was afraid to talk to anyone. I don't even remember how I got the idea to make that first cut, but there was something about the rush behind it, and I was completely hooked. At that point, I would cut anywhere that I could find. If there was bare skin that I could hide easily, there would be a blade to it. However, the more I came out to people and the stronger community I found, the less I self-injured. It went from being multiple times a day every day to being multiple times every few days. I still did it pretty consistently up until I switch schools.

When I went to a different school and started having different experiences and a stronger sense of belonging, the self-injury tapered off. I was at a point where I could go three or four days between sessions, which is saying a lot considering the pattern I came from. Part of this change was likely due to the fact that I had a roommate for the first time and I was constantly worried about her walking into the room or something. I began to realize that there was a very real possibility people could find out. I didn't want that to happen so I simply kept myself from doing it more. Just as I had feared, someone eventually found out. It was one of the authorities at the school, our equivalent of a Resident Assistant. According to all the rules set forth by the school, she had an obligation to let several people know what she had found out. She was supposed to tell the therapist, the head of residential life, and inform my parents about my behavior. Instead, she realized that telling everyone in the world would only serve as a bigger trigger for someone like me and kept it between us on the understanding that I would go to her whenever I felt a particularly strong urge. I agreed and she became someone I could talk to about it. Surprisingly, having someone that at least attempted to understand made a huge difference for me and things stopped being so intense. If I cut at all, it was once or twice a week and nowhere near as severe as it was before.

College came after that with an entirely new set of circumstances and the loss of the one person that I knew I could trust. For some reason that I can't really pinpoint, I was back to cutting whenever I had a free moment, whenever I had the chance. I wasn't happy unless I was bleeding which was a terrible thing and I was too stubborn to get any real help. Somewhere along the time during my college career, I was found out yet again. It was likely the result of a concerned friend sharing my poetry. I stopped writing then. The funny thing was that at the point in which I was discovered, I hadn't cut in a little over a month. I stopped writing poetry and didn't bother to look for another outlet. Instead, I turned right to my blades again... only to get caught again. It was at that point that I realized cutting wasn't worth getting caught. I threw away all my sharps and cried when I did so, but I still was able to get rid of them. I didn't want the possibility of getting kicked out of the University so I just forced myself to stop. I still can't remember how I got through the worst days.

That was my success story. I was heading into a year SI free, but my life decided to fall apart as quickly as it could. As a response to that, I started cutting again and completely missed my one year mark. It was worse then than it had ever been and after two weeks of that behavior, I realized what I was doing to myself and threw my blade away once more. This time, for good, or at least I thought. This attempt at recovery lasted for two years, but ended just a few days after I hit that mark. I write this story as a current self-injurer with little real desire to change. I know that I need to, but I don't know where to find the resources I need to help me quit. Maybe today will be my last day, maybe it will be in two weeks, two months, or two years. I know I'll get there eventually. I just need to find the reasons.

PetiteRosebud PetiteRosebud
22-25, F
1 Response Mar 4, 2009

I want you to know that not all religious (I don't know which religion you were referring to) people will react to you in the same way as your clergy did to you. I am sorry that you had that reaction to you coming out. I was raised in a church that had the same reaction to LGBTQ (which I am assuming, correct me if I am wrong, is what you are referring to by "coming out") I am away at college this year and I am learning to form my own opinions about issues such as this. I have come to the conclusion that a LGBTQ person is just the same as a straight person just with different sexual preferences...<br />
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Anyways...I feel your struggle as I am and have been in the same position as you (as far as SI goes) I also have been where you are in the terms of those who you trust having been taken or leaving from your life. I had a person I have trusted been taken by death, and now my closest friend is going to be moving to israel (from the US) in June...<br />
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so basically I just want to say that I have been where you have been and thanks for sharing your story!