I started using self harm as a method to cope with my depression in 7th grade, even though I wasn't diagnosed with depression until 8th. I would scratch myself to relieve bits of anxiety. At that point, it was a way to release energy. Stupid, I suppose. But it worked. I was a pretty happy girl in 7th grade, just living life. Other than my extreme anxiety and sometimes scary mood swings, I was alright. In 8th grade, though, everything changed. For the first part of my 8th grade year I was having a tough time with one of my close friendships. My urge to hurt myself came back, but it was only a dull nagging. I poked myself with safety pins a few times for quick release. Still nothing major or worrying...yet. Then in January I had my my first real boyfriend. I really thought I was in love. How silly of me. When the relationship ended only about 2 months later, I spiraled downward. I was so unsure of how to deal with it. The urges came back, but this time stronger. The first thing I did was stop eating. I'm not sure why, but it made me feel in control of the situation. I just did not want food. The self harm came slowly, gradually until I got braver. Once I reached that point, I smashed a plate just to get the shards of glass. I sat there on the kitchen floor, cut myself, and cried until my arm was covered in marks. They didn't bleed much, but it was enough. Sure a teacher or two noticed, but I lied and got away with it. It even got to the point where I seriously considered suicide. I even had a note written. I threw it away, so I can't really remember what it said. All I know is that it was covered in tears. I did those horrible things to myself until about June (which in total was about 3 1/2 months) until things started looking up. I recovered for that period of time.
My freshman year of high school self harm really didn't play a part in my life. Sure things were rough at certain parts, but somehow self harm wasn't something I used to cope. Even my sophomore year I was clean for the most part. Even though periods of depression came up, I managed to deal with it better. I really thought I'd recovered.
Then all of a sudden the summer before junior year was a nightmare. As you've read before, I had a miscarriage. Not only that, I had a lot of issues with my baby's father. After I miscarried, and after he put me through so much bullshit I went through a horrible period of depression. It lasted for a few weeks, but the scars are there forever. For days I could not get out of bed. I was physically sick and in so much pain. I turned to burning myself first, even asking others to burn me for "fun" when they didn't even realize it was a form of destruction to myself. Then the cutting began again. This time, though, I got brave. I melted the razor blades out of a disposable razor. At first I was scared, but in so much emotional pain that once I drug the blade across my skin I knew I'd made a mistake. It felt good, but it hurt. I didn't even feel it at first. In fact, I didn't even realize how deep I'd cut. One of the cuts in particular bled for two days. I was horrified. So afraid I'd have to go the hospital and tell my mom. Thankfully, it stopped. I had cut on my upper thigh, so the pain was unbearable for a few days. Once they healed, I swore I'd never do it again.
And I didn't, until about a week ago. Things were overwhelming. That's another thing I hate about depression; just when you think you're getting better it all goes to shit. I had thrown my old razors away in an effort to fully recover. But unfortunately razors and a lighter were easy access for me. I got a new set of blades in no time and started my devious work on my skin. I sat and cut, and now I'd guess there are over 20 cuts on my thighs. They hurt. I want to stop. I want to get better and not want to die anymore.
After a depressing Facebook status tonight, though, a girl I barely talked to messaged me telling me I deserve better and that she's there for me. She will never know how much that meant, because tonight I was seriously considering the way I could end it. She saved me.
I honestly pray for the strength to recover and not have to fake my happiness. But I still stand strong. As strong as I can. I deal with depression, anxiety, and bipolar disorder. But I still smile, because with some strength I know I can get better.
It feels good to share my story.
XOXO Angie :*
