My Story (Jade)

My Self-Harm Story

Warning: This is a triggering chapter. If you are easily triggered by this stuff, don't read it.

The day I took the blade to my skin is a day I will never forget. It was back when I was in 6th grade. The stress of keeping my grades up was getting to me. I was dreading of when someone would call me a rude name. I don't know if I'd prefer to say there or face what waits me at home...

Like everyday, I went home. Well, it really wasn't my home. It was my grandmothers. We were staying there because we were evicted from our old home. Back to the point, my mom was sleeping(She always sleeps) and my brother was no where to be found. I was really sad that day. 

I went to my room and locked the door. As soon as I did that, I broke. I couldn't stop crying. So many things were being yelled inside my head. I'm worthless. Everything is my fault. I'm not good enough. I didn't know what to do..I was so scared. That was the first time I ever broke like that. I didn't like the feelings that took over my whole body. It was an all-consuming agony. Pain and hatred. 

I have heard about self harm before. My friend used to do it. I didn't understand why. How could someone do that? Well, needless to say, I understand now. I grabbed the sharpest thing I saw(which happened to be scissors) and dragged it across the the top of my left arm. It hurt. But then I felt....relief....calm....The pain was slowly subsiding from it. I did 3 more small scratches and I actually felt better. Afterwards, I was ashamed of what I did. 

After that, I didn't think I would do it again. I thought that was going to be the only time..I was so wrong. I started taking earrings and thumb tacks to my skin. I was desperate for that relief I felt the first time. That's when my addiction started.

For a while, I had it under control. I only did it when I was really down and couldn't stand everyday life. It was never too deep to leave a noticeable scar. One summer, I found a small box that contained plenty of razors. I took two. What I was using before no longer helped me. I need something more and a razor was perfect.

The first time I harmed myself with the razor was on my upper arms. Two slices on each one. They were the first deep cut I have made. To this day, you can see raised scars from them whenever I am not wearing a jacket. That summer of 2012, self-harm completely took over my life.

I had just got in a fight with my mom because she seen my scars. I panicked and wouldn't stop telling her to back off. She had a look of pure disgust in her eyes. I couldn't handle it. I ran to my room and started crying. She didn't come after me. I frantically searched for my razor and found it before slicing open the skin on top of my left arm. I didn't feel anything. No pain. Nothing. It was a wide gash and it was bleeding pretty badly. Soon though it stopped. There are two big, white scars there now.

The first time I cut my wrists and down along my left arm, I don't clearly remember what had happened. They were just small little slits. It gave my joy because of how much it hurt there. I focused on that and not the mental torment. 

2012 was probably the shittiest year for me. I was sitting in the living room of my new apartment, watching TV. My dad was calling my name but I ignored him because I wasn't in a good mood to begin with. Finally he stormed in there. He called me all sorts of demeaning names. I didn't cry. I just simply walked away which further enraged him. I went into my room and my dad didn't even bother to continue arguing with me. I took my blade and locked myself in the bathroom. 

I cut all the way along my arm. Each cut was deeper than before. Not too deep, just enough to let the pain bleed out. Blood was everywhere so I had to clean it off the sink, counter and floor. It was a complete mess. My self harm just escalated after that.

I just got home one night from my grandmas because I was babysitting my little cousin. Before I go any further let me fill you in on some things. My dad tried to become clean of alcohol. He went to a special place for it and all. He didn't touch a single beer in months. Until he got out. It started out again moderately. But soon, he was full on drinking again.

Back to that night, my dad was drunk and pissed off because my mom was messaging one of her old guy friends and he figured out he hung out at our house sometimes. He didn't like him at all. Not for the reason you think either, honestly I don't know why my dad hated him so much. Anyways, I went into my room(as always when shit is about to go down) and stayed in there.

Through our thin walls, I heard every word that was said. It wasn't that hard because they were screaming at each other. I started softly crying by then. My dad was calling my mom all kinds of names, and she was arguing back. I heard a lot of banging around in the room. Soon enough I heard something that will probably never leave my thoughts. My mom screamed out, tears clogging her voice, "Don't put your fucking hands around my throat!"

I was so frightened. My dad was trying to choke my mother. At that point, I have had enough. I rushed to my hidden blade and just mindlessly cut lines up and down my arm. I didn't stop until my mom was calling the police. I tried to get the blood to stop but it took forever before it finally did. The police came and talked to my mom and dad and then me. Asking what I had heard and stuff until they made my dad go stay someplace else until he was sober. That night still haunts me. 

 Months later, scars were all over my arm. Faint lines from the past and deep slits from me constantly doing it. I started taking pills. My ex cheated on my that year.(I'll tell that story another time) All that shit happened in one damn year.

I heavily depended on my blade. I couldn't go for a week without cutting. I always needed it. To feel the razor cut deep into my skin, the stinging pain and the red blood that would flow. It was my relief. The urges were so strong and tempting. I used to purposely think of bad shit and give myself reason just to have a valid reason to cut myself. Fucked up, I know. But I craved for it. I need it. It was all I could think about.

In 2013 was the first time my cutting expanded to my thighs. I ran out of room on my right arm and was trying to keep my left arm clean of it. So I resorted to my thighs. Plus, they were much easier to hide. I'd make many deep but medium-sized cuts on my right thigh. The scars or criss-crossing all over my upper thigh. My left thigh holds my deep gashes(and I mean deep) There isn't as much scars there as on my right thigh but they are the worst.

Soon, my thighs weren't working out for my anymore. So, it traveled to my stomach. I softly drew the blade across my skin. Deep enough to let the blood appear and the sting of pain to distract me thoughts. The scars left behind are faint and barely noticeable unless you look very close. 

Now, onto the present. In 2014, I was put into therapy. I hate it! My parents couldn't deal with the sight of my scars so sent me there so I could "get better" This only made things worse honestly. I finally started cutting my right wrist. Deep jagged cuts. They are still pink because this was only a month or so ago. My right wrist isn't as bad as my left but I know it will be.

Today, I haven't hurt myself in a week and 5 days. I am trying to stop for the guy I am currently dating.(I'll talk about that relationship later) It is so fucking difficult not to run to my razor when things start getting rough. I depended on cutting for 3 years. The urge to just give into the monsters that whisper in my ear to do just cut and cut, is so damn tempting. I know I will relapse eventually. I don't think I can ever recover from self-harm. It controls me.

I miss the feeling of the sharp blade digging into my skin. The way it parted and let the blood flow out. I enjoyed the feeling of pure relief I got from it. This has messed me up so bad. One day, not too long from now, I will cut deep. Maybe even try to end all the pain for once and for all. 

So, my word of advice. Please don't start cutting. I am trying not to be a hypocrite, but if you are thinking about taking that razor to your skin for the first time, put it down. You don't want this. Hell, I'm not sure if I even wanted it but I am way to fucked up to tell the difference. While I may not see the light at the end of this long, dark tunnel, I know it can get better. Don't cut yourself. It is the absolute worse thing you can do. You are creating more pain then anything. Please stay strong guys. You are loved and are never alone. I will be here for you. If anyone ever needs anything, message me.