I’m going to tell you a secret.
I’ve never actually admitted this on here, because I just liked locking it up so only close friends would know; people I could trust, because I knew they wouldn’t look at me any differently. Maybe, sometimes, I imply it, I don’t know. But, I guess you could classify me as a cutter, self-mutilator, emo…you know, those stupid classifications. Or, you could just say that I crack under emotional pressure.
The first picture is when I, newly, scratched. The second picture is when it starts to sting and become puffy. The third picture is what it looks like when the puffiness goes away. This is what I did today. I stayed in my room, cried, and did this.
I take whatever sharp objects I can find and rub them against my left inner forearm until the stinging pain overcomes the pain that I would feel in my heart. It never mattered to me what I would use. But, I never scratch deep enough to leave an obvious scar; just enough for me to feel it, and enough to leave faint lines. Some people drink when they’re stressed. I tried that, but it wasn’t for me. Others smoke when they’re stressed. I hate smoking with a passion, so I would never do that.
Today, I used a knife, the pin of an earring, a key, and a broken piece of plastic that I found at the park yesterday while I was depressed over my fight with bayy. I kind of experimented with them to see which would give me the best effect. Knives hurt. I only, lightly, ran it over my arm, and the pain was there right away; nothing I could try to bear. Everything else worked marvelously. The pin of the earring did actual damage and took up some skin. The key did it also, but, I couldn’t figure out how to do it again. I have tough skin, so it takes a while for me to angle whatever I’m using just right, so it leaves a permanent mark.
There are times when I can go months without doing it, but every now and then, when I can’t bare the pain, and pressure, anymore, or the screaming in my head, I relapse and just do it again. The first time hurt myself was in eighth grade. But, it didn’t start with scratching. First, it started out with rubber bands that I would leave on my wrist and snap against me whenever I felt upset. Then, it upgraded to taking my studded belt and slapping it against my arm to leave bumps and bruises. Soon, I, finally, got the courage to scratch at myself. I’ve even tried suffocating myself with a pillow, only to back out at the end because I knew I wasn’t supposed to die yet.
If you look, closely, at my arm, you’ll see the lines that run across. Actually, when I got my tattoo with the Chinese character, “Love”, I saw the artist look at it briefly, then look up at me. I pretended not to notice it, but I knew. I guess I should have let it heal before I went to get my tattoo.
I never really make it known because I’m afraid of judgement. I’m afraid people will look at me and think that I’m a freak; especially, because I know that a lot of people that follow me on here know me in real life. But, I don’t care anymore if they think I am. I need to start thinking about the people that care about me, and the people that want me to be better, rather than the people that will judge me and tear me down even more. I’m sure people could never really see me as someone who does that, but looks can be deceiving. Don’t think just because someone looks happy, or sounds happy, that they really are. You don’t know what’s going on in their head.
But, I’m going to try to stop doing it for good. It hurts bayy, and I can see it in his eyes when he looks into my eyes, down to my arm, and back up at me. I know it hurts him, and I know he wants to cry whenever he sees it. It’s not even just him that gets sad when I do it. My brother grabs on to me and tells me not to do it, my mom caught me with the pin of my belt and ran over and hugged me and she started to cry. This has been going on for years.
I guess what I’m trying to do…is document, on here, with all of my followers as my witnesses, that I will never, ever, hurt myself again.