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This is an article I have written in hopes that it will open your
eyes.
Cutting is an addiction that many choose to ignore. Some do not even
know that their children do it, or even some adults. It is an
addiction that is hidden by long shirts and pants. Hidden behind
lies such as "Oh, I scrapped myself trying to find something under
my bed". Which is an excuse I once used.
Many people do not understand the logistics of it, nor do they find
how it helps at all. The question to from those who do not
understand is, "How can a cutter replace mental pain with physical
pain?" They ask questions like "Doesn't it hurt?" or "What do you
use?" The answer which seems to be the same from many cutters I have
met (as well as myself) is, that it hurts the first few times and
then after that just watching the blood flow is like a release. What
people use depends on how much pain they are in. For anger and
aggression many use glass, pocket knives, razor blades, and anything
with a dangerous sharp edge. For pain that is minimal such as bad
grades or failure in something dull is used, such as paper clips,
safety pins and staples. My tools were razor blades, paper clips,
safety pins, and staples.
These objects even as small as a paper clips or staples are
dangerous. This is not an addiction to be ignored. It is time the
world come to realize the dangers of this addiction. One cut too
deep can mean death, and just because one does not cut deep at all
does not mean it is O.K.
Some people start by stumbling upon it, hearing that someone else
does it or they found physical pain such as scraping a knee on
concrete actually felt good. For me, I became so nervous that I
would scratch myself repetitively in the same area of my arm and
would not notice until my finger was wet with blood. I found that it
felt good and i no longer felt nervous. After that i still scratch
but found that the scabs were too big and had to find
something "better" to use. I switched to paper clips. They were easy
access from my moms desk at home or even teachers desks at school.
Between classes I would go into the bathroom, find a stall, prop my
foot on the toilet seat lid, pull down my sock and attack my ankle
with what ever object I had that day. Rather than cutting up and
down following the vein, I did right to left, minimizing the risk. I
thought I was fine, that I wasn't doing anything dangerous because I
wasn't cutting too deep. Watching the blood gave reason for my pain
as often times I felt mental pain so strong and it seemed to come
from no where. It made me feel alone. I didn't know anyone else who
cut so I thought I was weird and thus, I began to hate myself for
doing it. I thought I was smart. I cut the same areas over again.
Lies were becoming harder and harder to make. Pretty soon I was
wearing long sleeves and pants. My family had no idea and neither
did some of my friends. A couple times I was caught in my friends
house on the bathroom floor, crying because I did it again.
Between all my agony from failing math test after math test and
science test after science test, being teased and humiliated, yelled
at, etc. I had had enough. One day, while no one was home I had
attempted my first suicide. I hung a belt on the rod of my closet,
looped it around my neck, put my red childhood stool beneath my
feet, and razor in hand. I made a cut on each wrist that bled
heavily, kicked the stool away, and hung there. I realized in the
few second I was hanging between life and death that a) I didn't
want to die and b) that while cutting felt good I shouldn't do it. I
somehow untangled the belt from my neck and was free. No one in my
family knows of this attempt. While i came to the conclusion that
day that cutting wasn't the way to go, after a while i realized it
was "all i had". My mother found out that i cut myself my junior
year of High School. We were on vacation visiting my cousins for
their birthday party. I was changing in front of my mother because I
had no other choice, when she spotted squares carved into my hip
area, which i had completely forgotten I did. Her face was shocked
with horror, she said, "I don't understand this at all. I just don't
but when we get home you are seeing a doctor about this." So there I
started my long journey through therapy. I started going once every
week, then it trickled to once every month, the two months, and now
three. I was diagnosed as anxious, then obsessive compulsive, then
depressed, manic depressed, and now bi-polar. I put on drug after
drug to see what would help balance my moods. It was supposed to
help me stop cutting. But I have learned that an addiction cannot be
stopped by drugs, because sometimes they too become addicting and
the person with the addiction has to want to stop. I did not want to
stop until just last year, two years after i graduated from high
school and four grueling years of being addicted to cutting,
Vicodin, pot, Ambien, sleep aids, and numerous suicide attempts. My
wake up call came when i took a co-worker, who was also a friend who
cut, to the hospital for overdosing on his medication. They took his
shirt off and i saw that his whole body was covered in long up and
down scars. I realized then that I had to stop because eventually I
would be just like him. This did not mean i changed over night. I
have had many relapses since then and many days of struggling not to
cut.
I have survived my cutting and other addictions by having supportive
friends and family. The drive to see past the past and on to the
future living day by day was and is very hard. There will be times
when your hands shake and your mind become restless. Your hands want
to keep busy because you want to cut. What helps is talking about it
to someone. Most responses to that is, "How does that help?" It is a
healthy way of voicing your feelings. It lets out what you see bleed
out. Take up an activity that keeps your hands and body busy such as
writing, playing cards, or playing sports. I have been down this
road. Playing soccer game after soccer game and exercising. Many
times I have relapsed but at those times I did not have anyone to
talk some sense into me. It helps to call someone and just let them
know how you feel at that moment. It does help and you can get
through it.
There is hope and you have it in you. This website is for you. You
are not alone. In this website you will read about my experiences
and can ask questions and talk about your life.
There is a slice of hope, it about opening your wounded heart and
sharing and talking about how you feel.
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