I'd Rather Feel Pain Than Nothing At All

So, in order to distract myself from cutting, I’m gonna write this.

I have been self-harming since I was eleven years old. I didnt understand what was wrong with me. It was around that time when I started realizing that it was considered weird for a girl to like other girls, and that I would be considered abnormal if I tried being myself. My family also has a genetic history of severe clinical depression that passed on to me. I didn’t know how else to handle it.

I stopped when I was thirteen. The cuts were always superficial, so the scarring wasn’t too bad. When grade nine started, I took on another form of self harm without realizing I was doing it. I slowly began depriving myself of food due to my depression. I was just never hungry. I didn’t have the energy to be bothered with food. I forgot about food, generally only eating small things when my body blatantly reminded me that I needed it.

I came out as a lesbian when I turned sixteen. Almost two weeks after, the attacks and bullying began. The word FAG was carved into my locker door. I was spat at. I would walk home I the winter and have chunks of ice thrown at me. I started staring at blades more often, contemplating cutting. I felt I deserved to be in pain. I was considered a freak.

I finally took a stand at school. I posted a video in which I came out as gay and showed it to the entire school at the end of the year. The abuse stopped.

I was put in medication in my grade ten year because of my depression. I have never remembered to take it properly, only remembering at random intervals every few days and being to drained of energy to pick up the bottle. Sometimes I just don’t give a shit and glare at the bottle like its the most vile thing on the planet.

I started cutting again at the end of my grade eleven year. My grandma and I had a fight, and I called her some pretty awful things. I felt horrible. She left for a meeting and I went downstairs to my room and released my anger on a rather unfortunate mirror. The glass flew when I threw it and one piece caught my arm. I ended the evening by carving the words BITCH and IDIOT into my left arm.

My grandma found out. She took my to see my doctor and up the dosage ofmy pills- the ones I rarely take. This didn’t stop my trend of self harm. I moved the cutting to my legs. Higher up on my thighs mostly- prom is coming, and my dress only covers just above my knees. I don’t want people finding out and stopping me from cutting. I don’t plan on stopping for a long time.

I don’t want help.

My grandpa is upstairs in the family room. My dog is curled up next to me. I’m pretty damn cozy.

Then why the fuck am I holding an Xacto knife and fighting with myself in an attempt to keep from cutting my legs open again?

This addiction could seriously fuck me up in the future.

(Source: purepalms, via too-young-to-be-this-fucked-up)

(Source: rememberthatyouarebeautiful, via the-ticking-time-bomb)