TRIGGER WARNING!!

So, I just want to say that I'm fine. I really am. I just really need to talk about this.

Let's cut to the chase.

A few weeks ago, I was talking to a friend and they asked me why I decided to cut myself.

If you haven't read my poems at all, I wrote a mature rated poem titled "Stuck." It was pretty much a poem that didn't rhyme that explained the experience that I was talking to my friend about. In the original poem (I rewrote the poem for those of you who don't want to read something mature) one of the lines says, "I feel the blade meet my skin." Another says, "I don't flinch at the blade."

Yes. I have self-harmed in the past.

You might be wondering if I cut myself out of just wanting to harm myself or if I was planning to actually end my life. Well, in that precise moment, I only ever intended to hurt myself. However, that quickly escalated.

I should probably explain the background of this. I'm not going to go fully into detail as to how exactly I got to this point because I'm not entirely comfortable with sharing that with you guys yet. All I'm going to say is that I got into...sort of a fight. Not exactly, but I'm not sure how else to describe it. The "fight" I guess lasted about 30 seconds. It was what happened after that that lead to this point.

Before this point, I had long since been contemplating hurting and/or killing myself. However, I am seriously afraid of weapons. People tease me about this sometimes because obviously you're going to be scared of a gun that's pointed at you. That's not what I mean. I am scared of weapons to the point that I freak out around knives and guns. I can't hold a gun for the life of me. I can shoot a paintball gun, but put me in front of it and I can't even do that, hence the reason I never want to go paintballing.

Everyone in my life knows this. So when I was in the school counselor's office and my mom found out that I had cut myself the day before, it was a big shock.

I'm not going to talk a lot about what happened after I cut myself. I'm going to get into addressing my friend's original question:

Why did I cut myself?

Anyone who has ever self-harmed before can understand that this is a really difficult question to answer. There is a multitude of reasons why people cut themselves. However, I'm only going to be addressing the main reasons why I did.

One of the main reasons, and probably one of the easier ones to explain is that I wanted to get rid of the pain. This may seem a bit counterintuitive, but from what I've heard and researched, this is one of the most common reasons why someone might self-harm.

A friend of mine gave me a really good analogy the other day. Say that you bruise yourself on your arm. It hurts when you press against it, correct? Now say that you bruise yourself again on the other arm the next day. You would feel the new bruise more powerfully than the old one because it's a fresh wound. The same goes with cutting yourself.

It's not healthy, mind you. But when you're hurting emotionally, it's an extreme solution that some people go through with to get their mind off of the pain they are going through. When you feel the physical pain, your mind starts to feel that and it gets your mind off your emotions for just a little bit.

This is not healthy. I am not trying to lighten this serious subject, nor am I saying that it is okay to go through with. My therapist once told me to squeeze ice cubes if I ever felt like cutting myself because it gives a similar sensation while still keeping you safe.

As much as I hate to admit it, a part of me was also looking for attention. I know that sounds horrible, but please wait to judge me and let me explain to you first. 

Usually when someone is looking for attention, that is seen as a bad thing. They think of a child that cries just so their babysitter will feel sorry for them and give them a cookie, but that's not always the case. When someone posts on social media that had a bad day, they are obviously looking for attention, but is that really a bad thing? If you were having virtually the worst day ever, wouldn't you want a friend to be with you and comfort you? I get that some of you need to be alone, but others really do need that sort of comfort and attention to stay healthy.

I knew I needed help. I was so desperate for any kind of help that I was willing to give anything. Unfortunately, in today's world, not only does it cost a lot of money to get professional help, but you have to wait at least a month to get it after you pay. And even then might it take a while for you to be a given some sort of meds to help. When we called the psychologist after I cut myself, they couldn't help me unless I had attempted suicide. Why were they giving me an excuse? Not only that, but I've always been labeled as a generally happy person. No one could ever tell that I was depressed, and that meant that when I did tell them, they wouldn't believe me.

It was the worst decision ever, believe me. But I knew that no one would believe me unless I did something drastic.

Believe me, I got a lot of attention after that. But it was so overwhelming, and it was the worst possible way I could've gotten it. I would never recommend it to anyone. It was torture.

I'm not going to talk about the rest individually, because they're better understood if you knew what was going on inside my mind.

The person of concern in this instance was a very close friend of mine. Like, really close friend of mine. I'm going to give any details about the person because I don't want to reveal their identity, but I can say that this person was my role model. When they first told me that they weren't going to talk to me again, everything inside of me just died.

A lot of people these days are saying the phrase, "I'm dead inside." I don't think a lot of these people know exactly what that means.

I was already in a depressive episode before this incident occurred. I was already in a downward spiral at the time that it happened. But when she said this, that last bit of myself deep inside of me snapped.

I suffer from panic attacks as well as bipolar disorder and ADHD. This attacks can get pretty violent. I start to hyperventilate, I curl up into this tiny ball and squeeze myself as tight as I can, my tears burn against my cheeks, and when I try to open my eyes all I can see is a blur because I've been crying so much. Sometimes I stop breathing all together for random amounts of time, and my body is so compressed that once a sound finally does come out, it's similar to this brief, high pitched whine you would hear from a child. It pretty much looks like the mixture of me shivering violently, hyperventilating, gasping for breath, and convulsing. It feels like I'm about to throw up my heart, and it looks just as violent.

"Dying inside" seems to have become the butt of a joke nowadays. But I really don't think a lot of people understand what that feels like. A lot of us believe that we our bodies are inhabited by our spirit. At that particular moment, it felt like I didn't. I was as if I was a shell with an empty inside. My entire body was shivering violently, I was getting that tingling sensation you sometimes get when your body parts fall asleep, and I felt like I was floating. I wasn't a part of reality. Nothing felt real. I just lay there on my bed, submissive to the shivers, the tears, the thoughts.

"You're not good enough"

"Everyone hates you"

"You don't deserve to live"

"You should just die"

"You deserve this"

This happened for a period of over a month, continuing to get worse. Finally, one day after band practice, as I was fighting against these thoughts and all the stress that was happening, one voice spoke loudly above all the rest, drowning all of my other thoughts out.

Cut yourself.

Again, I had thought of this before. I came close to it quite a few times. But this time, it made sense.

Cut yourself.

For the first time in a month, I could think clearly. Granted, my state of mind was far from it. It wasn't clear. It wasn't healthy. But for the first time, all of these toxic thoughts and feelings became white noise to me. And the only thing I could hear was one thought:

Cut yourself.

I went home. I dropped off my backpack in my room, avoiding my family's eyes. I snuck into the kitchen. I grabbed a knife. My hands shook as I brought it to my skin. 

Am I really doing this?

I pushed the knife into my skin. Before I could make a slit, before I could even fell any pain, I dropped it. I dropped the knife. 

I went back into my room, holding my head in my hands. The voice still rang clearly in my head.

Cut yourself.

I entered the kitchen for the second time and picked up the same knife again. I pushed it against my skin, but I dropped it again. I escaped into my room again before entering the kitchen for the third time. I picked up the knife. My entire body was trembling. I didn't know what I was doing. The voice in my head was even louder, almost screaming, "DO IT. DO IT. DO IT." I brought the knife to my skin. I chewed my lip. My hand shook even more. 

I have to do it.

I pushed the knife against my skin. I was scared to cut too deep so I thought for a moment. Do I cut sideways? I thought about this. 

For that moment, I was in complete control. I was always that kid who could never break a rule to save her life. One of the biggest rules I had was to never hurt others. That included myself. And for that moment, for the first time ever, I was breaking that rule. Before that, I couldn't cry in front of others. I couldn't tell them I wasn't okay. I couldn't curl up and submit to my feelings. I had to fight them and keep on my mask. I couldn't ask for help. I couldn't bother anyone else. I couldn't tell them I was contemplating suicide.

But for that moment, I was breaking those rules.

I was free.

So I cut.

Mind you, this was no control. You should NEVER think it's okay to go through with something like this. I implore you to seek help if you are ever feel you are in danger of doing so.

The tears began to flow again, faster and faster. I blinked them back. I cut deeper and deeper. What am I doing? I asked myself. The voice screamed even louder.

END IT.

So I cut deeper.

And deeper.

Why did I stop? To this day, I still don't know. The pain I finally felt might've been enough to quickly jolt me back into reality. I instantly dropped the knife again. This isn't what I wanted.

This isn't what I wanted.

_

If you are struggling from suicidal or self-harming thoughts right now, contact one of these numbers or a trusted adult. If you do not have any adults you trust in your life, please either tell a friend or call 911.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255
Ayuda En Espanol: 1-888-628-9454
Hard of Hearing: 1-800-799-4889
Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration Helpline: 1-800-662-4357
(Available 24/7)

National Alliance on Mental Illness Helpline: 1-800-950-6264
(Available 10AM - 6PM EST, Mon - Fri)

Teen Line: 1-310-855-4673
1-800-852-8336
Text "TEEN" to 839863
(Available 6PM - 10PM PST)

Suicide is not okay.

The purpose of this monolgue is not to make it out to be okay, neither does it say that it is okay.

Stay safe!

Stealthheart