1 In 7th
grade, when my sister was leaving for college, I felt left out of my family, so
I'd resort to yelling, and screaming, and slamming doors, and hitting my
family. My parents sent me to a therapist, but I refused to talk to him. I sat
in his office for an hour, staring at the zipper on my coat, while he insulted
me. He claimed to be trying to make me mad so I would say something to him, but
I just didn't react, except to sit and cry on his couch. After a few months of
going nowhere with him, and still being an overall nasty, mean person to my
family, he said he just couldn't help. So i stopped getting whatever
"help" my parents saw fit.
Everything cooled down when my sister left, at least for a few years. Then, freshman year, I would just get so down about myself, hating how I looked, how I acted, how I was around different people. I had such low self esteem, and two days before Christmas, I cut myself because my friends were hanging out without me, while I had to go to the theater with my family. I had heard about cutting and saw pictures of it on my friend's blog, so I just decided "why the hell not?" Instantly, I was hooked. What some don't understand, is that it's an addiction. I did it frequently, six or seven times a day. While that was happening, I met a boy. He and I were awful together. It was like we fed off of each other's sadness. It was just an unhealthy relationship, where we'd share negative things about ourselves, like we were bragging.
I lasted a few months of self harming in secret before my best friend since preschool saw my arms. She immediately told my parents, and they sent me to a new therapist. After two months with her, she said she couldn't help either, and so my parents thought it would be best if I went to Linden Oaks outpatient. I was in the self harm program, and I met the best people ever there. They supported me through everything I went through with that unhealthy guy, and saved me from feeling hopeless. Two months into that program, I was sent inpatient for being suicidal. I was there for a week, and when I got out, I lasted another month in the outpatient program. When I graduated from it, I was sent back to my freshman year, back to my shitty friends, back to people digging around for the reason I went missing for so long. I was okay for a month of being around the unhealthy guy, but finally, I told him to "stay the fuck away from me." Immediately I went to my school social worker and told her I had a plan to end my life. She called my parents, and by the end of the next day, I was in a different hospital, surrounded by strangers. Inpatient helped a lot, and after a week there, I was in the outpatient program. I was itching to go back to school, since the year was about to end anyway. I graduated that, and finished the remainder of the school year. Meanwhile, I continued to self harm, just not as frequently as before, maybe once every month. Until recently, I was doing okay. But about a month ago, I made the decision to take razors from the store, and use the blades on my body. I've been relapsing everyday for the past week, and I don't know how to stop, or even if I really want to. Self harm is a monster not to be messed with, and I regret doing it the first time. I can't take it back. But you can prevent it from touching your life, by not picking up the blade.
Everything cooled down when my sister left, at least for a few years. Then, freshman year, I would just get so down about myself, hating how I looked, how I acted, how I was around different people. I had such low self esteem, and two days before Christmas, I cut myself because my friends were hanging out without me, while I had to go to the theater with my family. I had heard about cutting and saw pictures of it on my friend's blog, so I just decided "why the hell not?" Instantly, I was hooked. What some don't understand, is that it's an addiction. I did it frequently, six or seven times a day. While that was happening, I met a boy. He and I were awful together. It was like we fed off of each other's sadness. It was just an unhealthy relationship, where we'd share negative things about ourselves, like we were bragging.
I lasted a few months of self harming in secret before my best friend since preschool saw my arms. She immediately told my parents, and they sent me to a new therapist. After two months with her, she said she couldn't help either, and so my parents thought it would be best if I went to Linden Oaks outpatient. I was in the self harm program, and I met the best people ever there. They supported me through everything I went through with that unhealthy guy, and saved me from feeling hopeless. Two months into that program, I was sent inpatient for being suicidal. I was there for a week, and when I got out, I lasted another month in the outpatient program. When I graduated from it, I was sent back to my freshman year, back to my shitty friends, back to people digging around for the reason I went missing for so long. I was okay for a month of being around the unhealthy guy, but finally, I told him to "stay the fuck away from me." Immediately I went to my school social worker and told her I had a plan to end my life. She called my parents, and by the end of the next day, I was in a different hospital, surrounded by strangers. Inpatient helped a lot, and after a week there, I was in the outpatient program. I was itching to go back to school, since the year was about to end anyway. I graduated that, and finished the remainder of the school year. Meanwhile, I continued to self harm, just not as frequently as before, maybe once every month. Until recently, I was doing okay. But about a month ago, I made the decision to take razors from the store, and use the blades on my body. I've been relapsing everyday for the past week, and I don't know how to stop, or even if I really want to. Self harm is a monster not to be messed with, and I regret doing it the first time. I can't take it back. But you can prevent it from touching your life, by not picking up the blade.
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