One day, everything went dark.
Addicted to a drug, easily hidden, and ignored often. It hooks you from the very start. It understands you, comforts you, wraps it’s arms around you, weaves it’s evil throughout every vein in your body, until you claim it as your god.
Recovered, but memories are fade-proof.
Self mutilation, it’s beautiful to a point. Actually you know what, scratch that. It’s ugly, it’s a fucking drug, it’s an evil drug. Slowly destroying yourself, it helps you feel better right? It doesn’t permanently fix the problem, but the crimson red running down your arms, your legs, your body, it feels like your own personal party, thrown just for you. It feels like time has stopped, and your party will go on forever. Cut by cut.
I remember the first time I dug a blade into my once beautifully clear dermis. It was near the end of seventh grade. The pain was magnificent, the sting wonderful. I had the strength to dig a blade in to my wrists, I felt triumphant. It was ecstasy, it was satisfaction. The day I was introduced to this monster, and I let it in. I let it in to my still fragile shell, and it will be with me forever.
No one knows how good it feels until they actually experience it. It’s so unexplainable, like you’re the one in control for once, instead of your teachers, your parents, or your friends and peers. It feels beautiful. Every time you cut, you cut deeper, and deeper, until you finally feel light headed. It feels like you’ve won.
It started out as something I used to control myself. It eventually grew though, in to the thing I needed, my drug, my addiction. I let it. I was in control, I was alive. Nothing could get me off like this.
Throughout eighth grade nobody noticed. Fuck I didn’t tell a soul. But once grade nine hit, I realized I needed to tell someone or I was going to die, psh, that’s what I wanted but in a way I didn’t. Does that make sense?
So I told my “friends,” and gradually people started to “notice.” I was pissed. I did it more than ever. I didn’t care. Cutting was my choice. I could do it if I wanted. Until one day…
My mom noticed.
"WHAT IS THAT?"
I came up with a stupid excuse. “Mom, I fell on my longboard, I promise.” It wasn’t to her satisfactory, she knew what I had done. What the monster in me had done. She said if I ever did it again, I would be sent to a psychiatrist right away.
As if I would’ve told them anything.
Not long after that, I met a boy.
"Hey my name is Brandon."
Of course right off the bat I thought he was cute, I mean, an actual guy besides Abdallah wanted to be my friend, I thought that was amazing. So I let him in, and I liked the way he cared.
We kissed, we hugged, we did everything together. We were, and still are to this day inseperable. I didn’t tell him about my self-mutiliation though, out of fear of him leaving. “Holly, don’t tell him, he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you.. shhh…” My mind was an absolute wreck.
One day we were walking together down an alley. I honestly forgot what we were talking about, but somehow me mentioning my mom threatening to get me a psychiatrist came up. Me and my big mouth.
"Why would she do that?"
"Well you know, just stuff."
"What kind of stuff?"
At this point, I was breaking. I knew I was going to tell him.
"Just stuff. It’s not a big deal. She’s just over-reacting."
"Holly, tell me plese."
"Okay I cut.."
I thought he was going to run away from me, run as fast as he could. Hell if I was him I would.
"Why? Let me see."
I rolled my sleeves up. His eyes went wide. He looked straight at me, holding my wrists. He started to cry.
In that moment, I realized that someone actually gave a fuck about me. I never thought anyone would ever give a fuck about me. But it was like a punch straight in the stomach, he cared.
"Holly, you can’t do this anymore."
"I just can’t see you like this. Please Holly, promise me you’ll stop."
"I don’t know if-"
"Stop. Promise me."
I was very unaware of my surroundings, it seems like all I could see was him. That’s it. I was very worried that I would never be able to stop. I wasn’t sure if I should promise him, I was really confused.
But then the words came out.
He gave me the biggest hug after that, and we went about our business.
A month later, it’s October. I pissed two boys off. They made my life hell, and I cut again. I felt guilt, but pleasure. The pain like no other. I felt in control once again.
When I told him he was completely understanding.
"Holly this time you have to promise me. For real. Please."
That time I promised for good. Because it has now been two whole months since I have put a blade to my wrists, legs, or body, and I’m really proud of myself.
And one day, my life lit up.
I still have urges, and it’s hard, but I get through them.
Self-mutilation- isn’t the answer to your problems. I promise you guys, if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here no matter what. I promise you. I promise you. I promise you. You will be happy one day.
You will beat this.