I Came to a Realization and I Feel Proud of Myself | NC-17 Self Harm

It al started a few minutes ago, having this conversation with my best friend over facebook.

My Best Friend: I just wanna hurt myself all over my arms. Just dig my nails and claw.
Me: Alright, I want you to do something for me, alright?
My Best Friend: Okay.
Me: I want you to go to the nearest mirror and put your hands on top of your head, flexing your arms so that you can see them well. Think about what will happen if you cut all over them. Just to give you some examples; 1) if you cut, they could haul you to some psichiatric center and there would be no FrankenBeat, no Bandits, no NOTHING, since all over your arms is hard to cover as fuck, even if they heal quick and aren't deep. 2) when you flex, it hurts. And it hurts all the time. So when you go to sleep, when you wake up, when you stand up, when you walk, when you move, when you BREATHE, it hurts because you know what's there and what you've done. Shame along with sadness and regret, mind you. 3) Do you honestly want to live with the paranoia of someone finding out and looking at you with pity? With sorrow? With disgust? Do you want to give your mother the satisfaction of giving up and caving into the worst habit you could egt yourself into?
Me: I have scars on my wrists. They are very thin, very faded, and only if you look hard enough, you can see them. I see them always. They burn right through me, reminding me every day of that first time i did it, of when they were fresh and deep and nice and beautiful like i wanted them to be. but when the rush is over, the pain subsides and the night has passed, they are nothing but ugly reminders of everything that hurt you.
Me: It isn't worth it at all.
Me: It will never be.
My Best Friend: I don't care if people find out or if someone sees. I fucking encourage it, they can see how miserable I am. No one would care anyway. No one does now, I could hang myself and no one would know for days. No one cares, if someone notices, they wouldn't care. They'd think it was bandit, id say it was bandit. I'm so depressed. I want everyone to know it. I want everyone to know how much I hate life and its offerings. I like that burn. That burn of pain in the weeks of healing. The scabs and scraps that no one would care to ask about.
Me: Just stop thinking and listen to me; I love you. I fucking love you and I don't want to see you do this to yourself because I hate how it looks after it heals. There will never be a good reason to cut. I know you want people to know. I know it would be awesome if your mom finally shot her fucking eyes open and took good care of you like a mother should, but you don't want THAT attention. It isn't care, it's absolute pity. It's disgusting, it's dirty and it's a callout to write CRAZY over your forehead. When my parents found out my sister told me that I was fucking insane and my dad gave a lesson which I think was well learnt. I will not let you do what I did to yourself. Because those scars are not battle scars. Those scars are demons and they do not disappear as easily as childhood wounds.

Basically, I told my best friend what I should have told myself a few months ago. I loved the rush. I loved the feeling of control. I loved how I could push deeper and deeper and play with them and tear my skin apart without having anyone in my house or in my life noticing it. It hurt me that nobody noticed, but it was still some kind of relief. I did it every two days, and I'd mutilate my wrist, doing small, deep cuts so that I could fit some bracelets and cover it. And I lived in complete paranoia. Because I wanted the attention, yet when they found out they acted like everything was pretty. They patted my wrist, my head, and told me they'd find a psichologist for me to tell me I'm pretty and thin, two things that I absolutely am not.

Because of this, I've come to the conclusion that adults fucking suck and that some people should not be parents at all. If your kid is suffering don't you fucking dare tell them that it's "a phase you're going through" or "everyone at your age has felt the same way."

I wish parents would try to understand.

I really do.
August 8th, 2013 at 04:21am