Diary of a Self-Harm Victim

A Harsh Reality

We all remember our first cut. How all the pain and thoughts get overwhelming. You probably heard about self harm, thought it sounded strange, thought "how could someone hurt themselves on purpose?" Maybe you wondered what it was like, to be able to control how much pain was inflicted, where you wanted and for how long you wanted. It would be much different from everyone around you hurting you when they wanted, how they controlled it. Perhaps it would be liberating to control it all your own.

So you borrow a pair of scissors, a kitchen knife, a pencil sharpener or shaving blade you can take apart, a lighter, matches, even the metal teeth on a tape dispenser. You lock yourself up in the bathroom, or your bedroom if youre lucky. You sit down and ponder where you'll do it. "my wrist might be too obvious; my arm might be a safe guess; but i'll need a place i can use an excuse for..."

Suddenly you get an idea. No one sees anything under your shirt, unless its summer. Your arms move on their own and remove the thin clothing. "My best bet would be the one place no one ever looks: where my bra is." You get ready with your weapon of choice, and brace yourself for the pain.

The moment the cool metal touches your skin, you start to move it across your flesh and press down against it. At first, it stings like hell. Your eyes automatically squeeze shut and your hands start to shake from the adrenaline that begins to rush through your viens. You open your eyes when something tickles your stomach, looking down to see its blood already seeping. You feel numb and empty for a moment, just watching it drip further down.

Then it hits you square in the face: your bleeding from an unusual place and someone could walk in at any minute. You drop the blade and start cleaning yourself up. The bleeding stops, and you sigh with relief. Going back to the blade, you pick it up and sit on your bed to stare at it laying in your hand. The feelings from before start to return, clouding your mind and making you wish they would just go away. Your eyes shut when tears threaten to escape, and close your fist around the blade, cutting your hand open in the process.

Again you feel numb and high almost. You can feel some blood seep around the wound anf lie back to your pillows. The feelings stay away longer this time. But they still come back.

The cycle repeats itself until you understand that cutting yourself keeps the feelings at bay when they overwhelm you.

Fast-forward to present day. You struggle with day-to-day tasks, and things in your life seem to keep getting worse. You cut yourself when you're frustrated, angry, hurt, betrayed, and now you cant deal with any emotion unless you hurt yourself. Things change about you almost by the hour, and you dont think anyone notices.

Right now, you are sitting in the tub, with a razor in your hand. Staring at your thighs and arms, you see all the white and pink scars, the recent cuts refusing to heal. You look at your stomach and chest - all you see are flaws and cuts trying to heal. You think about why you're in the locked bathroom again. Today some of your friends asked why you were wearing sweaters and hoodies all the time. They looked skeptical when you told them you were feeling cold, but they let it go since it was appropriate for the weather.

You didnt want to lie to your friends, who have been with you for years through everything. But if they found out about your secret, the fact that you destroy yourself nearly every day, they would ask more questions than you can answer, and they would judge you for being weak. No, you decide, they wont find out unless i tell them. The guilt and shame eat at you though. They pull at the already frayed edges of your conscious and tell you it could be better. They tell you how you look fat, and how know one could love you, with all the scars inside and out, and they tell you how you could fix all of it with one last cut.

Again, you slice flesh open on your already heavily scared abdomen, and slide yourself down in the tub so the water can take away the blood, and the pain with it. But in an hour, you'll get out of the tub, grab your towel, and blot at the five new cuts - one for every evil thought put into your head tonight. You look at the forming scabs and sigh in frustration. I must be so fucked up to do this every night.

Getting dressed, you watch your eyes in the mirror. You take in how sunken they look, and how bags are forming from your restless nights. The brilliant chocolate color they used to be is now a drab mud color hiding every little secret, every pain and hurt, every memory that haunts you. You look at the sleeves that go down to your elbows, hiding almost fifty cuts all by themselves. Next, your jeans come into your view, hiding more cuts around your thighs. Your vision gets blurry, and you start crying. You look at your face once again, thinking about how inside you are screaming at the top of your lungs.

But on the outside, you are just standing in front of a mirror, shaking from the quiet sobs wracking your body. No one wants to look at the real me anymore. I don't blame them, what with all the baggy clothes and drab average looks. I look horrible. When your cell phone goes off, you sniffle and look at the screen to find you recieved a text. Opening the message, you wipe away your tears and read what your boyfriend has to say.

Hey baby. I miss you. Do you want to hang tonight? -xoxo ur man

You quickly reply that you aren't feeling well and wish him a fun night with his friends. Of course you lied to him again. You haven't been alone together for almost a month now. But you don't want him to find out, so you keep your distance as much as you can. Another vibration from your phone indicates his response.

Well good thing i came to your window then :) come let me in so i can cuddle you? -xoxo

You panic at the thought of him being alone, with you, in your locked bedroom, with your parents just downstairs. I have to let him in, otherwise he will think something's up. So you walk into your bedroom and to the window, where your boyfriend sits on the roof waiting with a smile. The corner of your lips turn up at the sight of him, and you unlock the latch before you step back to give him room to climb in.

"Hey gorgeous, i missed you." he hugs you close and you reluctantly place your arms around his waist. "I'm sorry you don't feel good. I brought a movie, though. Do you want to watch it until you fall asleep?" He holds up the DVD and smiles at you.

You nod and smile at him for effect. He walks over to your TV and pops in the disc before joining you on your bed. As he wraps his arm around your shoulders, you pray he doesnt feel the cuts under your shirt. A few hours pass and you eventually fall asleep with your head on his chest. Within your dream, you can still feel the tickle of your shirt moving without your consent. You battle with your exhaustion and open your eyes to find the concerned look on your boyfriend's face as he's looking at your scarred shoulder. Your sleepiness evades immediately and you sit up gasping.

You correct your sleeves before he can see any more cuts. He sits up and whisperes your name, reaching out to grab your hand. You don't dare look at his face for fear of the disgusted look upon it. He whispers your name again and moves your face to look at him with a finger under your chin. You wipe all emotion off your face that would give you away. "What are those from?" he asks the one question you dread. You look down only for him to lift your face to his again.

"Look at me, what are those scars from? What happened to you?" He looks fearful and stern at the same time. It scares you and tears start to well in your eyes. You take a deep breath in and close your eyes to the coming shock and sure rejction.

In a shaky voice, you reply, "They're just cuts..." You wait for him to say something before you move.

"I can only think of one way a person gets cut up all over their shoulder like that. Tell me it's not true. Tell me something scratched you up like a cat or something. Please,'"You hear him gulp. "Please say you just got in an accident..."

You tremble with the pain you hear in his voice as he pleads with you to lie to him. "I-I c-cant lie to you like th-that." you breathe shakily. "I just...cant." you drag out.

He grips your hand harder and you open your eyes to see him reaching for your sleeve again. Your first instinct is to flinch away but he stays determined and slowly inches forward until he pulls down your sleeve to reveal your shoulder, and you let him. He gasps at the sight before him. Your bottom lip quivers in embarassment and self-hatred.

He traces every scar he can see on your shoulder with solemn eyes and a trembling hand. You look ahead of you at the wall and stay quiet.