People believe something they have done in the past is embarrassing, humiliating, and degrading. It is something we all live with; we all make mistakes.
My confession is something I scarcely talk about… actually, I never really talk about at all. I will mention it to a caring friend… only if they are persistent. Other than those few… no one really knows.
I can act like I am completely fine… but sometimes I am burning up inside. I will rant at people, be very angry and seem frustrated a lot of the time. But, sometimes it’s something else that comes into my head and makes me hate myself even more.
I practice self-mutilation to let out my anger…
This is something that is looked down upon…. by most of society. More than likely because they just don’t understand why people do it.
I have done it before…. Starting a year and four months ago.
I started out by punching my arms, I have bony knuckles and I would leave serious bruising all down my forearms. I wore sweatshirts so no one would know. When the bruising on the arms was absolutely unbearable, I started on my stomach. I beat my stomach to the point I could not eat anything at all. I would come to school telling my friends I was just never hungry.
After that, I found any sharp object I could and slashed my forearms until they would be covered in gashes.
None of this ever hurt me physically.
I stopped for a long time… a very long time. I was clean for about a year. Then, it started again.
Before a big trip a group of us and I went on, I took a razor blade and ripped up my knuckles. This was the first thing related to mutilation I had done in a year. I remember a close friend of mine asked what happened… I cannot remember what I said, but I know that I lied to him.
After that trip, my self-esteem snowballed downhill. I felt like the most worthless piece of shit that walked the earth. Nothing I did was right after that.
The next time was after a solo performance I did on my instrument. I messed up, went home, watched the tape and started crying. I was so angry that I couldn’t do anything right, I grabbed a razor blade and cut my arm. I stopped crying, stopped feeling. It took away the pain, just like it did before. I went to school and told everyone it was a cut from cleaning up the woods.
I would wake up some mornings and grab 4 or 5 pain-killers and take them, and that was all I ate until dinner. I never felt any pain during the day… I was so happy.
Then, the peak of it all was when I started cutting my thighs and stomach. The cuts would bleed through my clothes, so I wore more than one shirt and put gauze on my legs. The scars from the cuts on my stomach are gone, but the others are still there. The ones on the inside of my arms, the ones on my legs, on my hip.
Even thinking about this causes me to be emotional.
I write this not to get attention, nor receive pity or help. I am saying this to prove, even the most least expected people can do this without you knowing. Watch a struggling friend, you might be the only one that can help. They want your help, not necissarily for you them to solve everything, but to be there for them.
I don’t want anyone’s help… and never ask me about this at anytime. Taking away my outlet is like taking away a dieing person’s life support. I am slowly starting to quit… but this takes time, I am a very angry person. It took me to talk to one person about this and let everything out to even think of quitting.
You now have a reason to call me psycho… I hope you’re happy.
~Shadow
Never bring this up to me.... please.