November 14, 2009

• “LOVE” On My Wrist

  I’m a cutter. Or was. Or sometimes I still am. It’s all a little hazy.

  I had never really known what cutting was. There was someone in high school who was into self-harm, but I didn’t understand it. I couldn’t comprehend why someone would do that to themselves. After I graduated high school, I discovered the movie Thirteen.

  It’s a movie about a good girl who falls into the wrong crowd because they were popular. She starts cutting, and I was like hmm.

  So one night I brought home a clean razorblade from work. I worked in a warehouse, so it was pretty accessible.

  To understand how I got to this next part, you have to understand the life I’ve had. Most of you know that I was molested when I was little, but more recently at that point I had gone through this whole thing with my mother. She had started doing cocaine while I lived with her in high school. Her paranoia rammed me right in the face. My mother is a liar, and a very believable one. My father says “that woman could make you believe the sun rises in the west.” I believed everything she told me, every line that fed her paranoia. It got really bad senior year, and I moved 6 times throughout the school year. My A’s and B’s slipped into D’s and F’s. I had insomnia at night and slept in my classes. I was afraid of my mother’s violence. I was literally afraid day and night that she would kill me or my sisters. I laid awake every night listening, straining my ears. If she even moved toward my bedroom, I was hiding under my bed. That’s how terrified of her I was. I finally moved in with my father after I graduated, but all of this was still in my mind, for a long time afterward.

  For the longest time I was afraid. There was butterflies in my stomach. I was nervous. Blood has always made me queasy. I stretched my thigh out in front of me and twirled the blade in my fingers. I exhaled and dragged the blade across my skin. At this point, my daily emotions were crazy. There were some days I was so numb, the next day I felt so much pain and hurt in my heart that I could barely bare it. I don’t remember which one it was that night, but I instantly felt better. A breath and sigh of relief. I didn’t cry.

  I watched the blood bubble up with fascination. I dabbed at it with a white sock. That sock became a testament to my daily tribulations and secrecy. It was never blood soaked. I never cut that deep. I just cut many, many times. I never washed that sock as it became blood stained. Mostly it was on my thigh, my right one that was victim to my mutilation. I loved how it would sting the next time I took a shower. I loved how the raw cuts hurt when the rough denim of my jeans rubbed against them. It was my therapy. It was whatever I needed it to be for that day. It made me feel when I was numb. It numbed the pain whenever it was too much to bear.

  It was an addiction. One time I carved the words “HELP ME.” Other cuts on top of those words made them disappear. I have hundreds of scars and I am not ashamed. To me, they are evidence that I’ve lived. At one time, I cut my wrists because they bled more. I wore bracelets to hide them. The scars you can barely see now unless you know they are there. I look at them all the time.

  I haven’t regularly cut in years. Every now and again I get an urge. Sometimes I give in. Sometimes I don’t have a chance to give in before the moment passes. I haven’t done it in months. Sometimes I wonder if I will ever completely give it up. I honestly don’t know.

  And just so we’re clear, cutting isn’t about suicide. I actually stopped thinking about killing myself when I started cutting. I had thought about it almost every day 8th grade through 12th. So that’s the story about the cuts on my leg:

  

  I’m hypocritical when it comes to this. I think it’s okay for me to do it, but it’s not okay for anyone else. I guess I say it’s okay for me because of the way it makes me feel. Doesn’t every addict say the same thing? My drug is a razorblade.

  I wrote “LOVE” on my wrist today.

  

  Not a good photo, but the only one I have currently is on my phone :/

  3 things I love about myself:
  1. My love for the people I care about is very genuine.
  2. I love my smile.
  3. I love my sense of humor.

  • 12:22 pm
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