Status: One shot story. :P
My Self Injury Story
My Self Injury Story
My Self Injury Story
For several years, I struggled with Self Injury.. This is my story.
Around the end of 5th grade, I began getting hurt a lot..
My dad was abusive, and I got bullied in school.
I heard about cutting from a girl in church when she was giving her testimony.
I went home that night, took a needle, and scratched myself.
At first it was scary 'cause I'd never done anything like that before..
But then, I realized something...
It helped.
So I scratched myself again....
and again.........
and AGAIN...............
I went to sleep that night with a burning sensation on my wrists, 6 scratches on my arms, tears on my pillow and a "smile" on my face.
The next day, I wore a sweatshirt..
as I did for a week or so.
Then summer break started, and I didn't cut for a few months.
Once I started middle school, the bullying started again.
People would make fun of the way I looked and talked.
Then one night, I remembered those little scratches.
I went into the bathroom,
closed the door,
and scratched my arms up.
I went to sleep that night with both arms throbbing.
This continued as a routine for a few weeks.
Then after a few weeks, it just wasn't enough anymore.
I would light matches and hold them under my arms and fingertips
until I had little burnt holes in my skin.
These were easy to cover up with make up.
I added burning to my daily routine of self injury.
About halfway through sixth grade, I added another step:
I would put salt on my leg in the bathroom, then press an ice cube against it.
There's a chemical reaction between the ice and salt,
And I'd have a welt there for a few weeks.
This continued for a few months.
Then a few weeks before school ended, I added ANOTHER step:
One night, while I was in the shower, I broke a disposable razor.
I now had a razor blade.
I would cut long, thin, not-too-deep cuts in my thighs and arms.
As I got more comfortable with using a razor blade,
I'd cut more and deeper.
Somehow, the pain took away the emotional pain.
It's really hard to understand if you've never been a self-harmer.
Well, it got to the point where I'd cut huge gashes into my legs and arms
Every. Single. Night.
On December 14th, 2010, I gave up.
I was sick and tired of living, and I got up the courage:
I went downstairs at night, and swallowed a handful of ibubphrophen.
I cried myself to sleep that night.
When I woke in the morning, I was DEVASTATED.
I had wanted SO much to die in the night.
So, so much....
I sobbed as I got dressed, and showered, cut, burnt, cut, cut...cut.
At school, I got called to the guidance office.
My mom had called the guidance counselor and asked if she could talk to me.
My mom said I'd been acting strange for a few days...
I broke down.
I bawled as I told the guidance counselor EVERYTHING.
She gently told me that she needed to call my mom to take me somewhere.
I was begging God to let mom take me home so I could take every single pill in the house.
But, no.
My mom came to get me, and drove me to an office building where they would evaluate just how suicidal I was, and what needed to be done.
After a few hours, they told my mom that I was scheduled to be admitted to Virginia Baptist Mental Health Hospital..
So off we went..
I spent 9 days in the hospital there.
At first, it helped.
I was glad to be going home,
I missed my family and friends.
For the next month, I was fine.
My gashes began healing over, and I was in steady counseling.
But then in February, it happened again.
My mom began making me feel like a disappointment,
so I returned to the razor.
One day, my mom and I got in a huge fight.
I left the house with no shoes or coat,
and walked about 2 miles to my friends house.
On the way there. I shredded my hands with pieces of glass I found,
ran through broken glass while trying to fun away from some guys trying to get me to get in there car, and considered heavely jumping into traffic.
Once I got to her house, I told her what was going on.
We told her mom what happened, and she told me that I could spend the night there if I called my mom and she said it was okay.
So I called my mom..
My mom said that if I didn't come out to the car in 10 minutes,
she was going to call the police.
At 8 1/2 minutes, my friend walked me down the driveway.
But at the end, I bolted.
There was NO way I was getting in that car...
My mom drove after me, but I was SPRINTING.
My friends older sister ran after me.
I stopped on the curb a block away, and sobbed.
Her older sister caught up with me and sat down and just held me.
Once the police cars started arriving,
my older sister took the place of my friends older sister.
My mom stayed in the car.
I got in one of the police cars, and they took me to the hospital.
I could've ridden in my moms car, but there was no way I was going to do that.
At the hospital, I showed up bleeding, crying and with a policeman.
(People were freaked out.......)
They cleaned up my cuts and evaluated that I needed to go back to the hospital.
I spent 6 days there.
I've been out of the hospital for 9 months, and I've only hurt myself 2 or 3 times.
Which is REALLY good for me. :)
Today I am a 14 year old freshman with faded pink lines on her arms, legs, hands and chest.
I play the flute, drums, trombone, piano and guitar,
I was recently in our schools production of "Grease."
I'm in our school's dancing/singing group, and I'm in my churches Praise Band.
I'm in our school's marching band, concert band and jazz band.
Everyday I struggle with making myself eat enough, and keeping myself safe.
But I have family and friends that I know will be here with me through it all.
For several years, I struggled with Self Injury.. This is my story.
Around the end of 5th grade, I began getting hurt a lot..
My dad was abusive, and I got bullied in school.
I heard about cutting from a girl in church when she was giving her testimony.
I went home that night, took a needle, and scratched myself.
At first it was scary 'cause I'd never done anything like that before..
But then, I realized something...
It helped.
So I scratched myself again....
and again.........
and AGAIN...............
I went to sleep that night with a burning sensation on my wrists, 6 scratches on my arms, tears on my pillow and a "smile" on my face.
The next day, I wore a sweatshirt..
as I did for a week or so.
Then summer break started, and I didn't cut for a few months.
Once I started middle school, the bullying started again.
People would make fun of the way I looked and talked.
Then one night, I remembered those little scratches.
I went into the bathroom,
closed the door,
and scratched my arms up.
I went to sleep that night with both arms throbbing.
This continued as a routine for a few weeks.
Then after a few weeks, it just wasn't enough anymore.
I would light matches and hold them under my arms and fingertips
until I had little burnt holes in my skin.
These were easy to cover up with make up.
I added burning to my daily routine of self injury.
About halfway through sixth grade, I added another step:
I would put salt on my leg in the bathroom, then press an ice cube against it.
There's a chemical reaction between the ice and salt,
And I'd have a welt there for a few weeks.
This continued for a few months.
Then a few weeks before school ended, I added ANOTHER step:
One night, while I was in the shower, I broke a disposable razor.
I now had a razor blade.
I would cut long, thin, not-too-deep cuts in my thighs and arms.
As I got more comfortable with using a razor blade,
I'd cut more and deeper.
Somehow, the pain took away the emotional pain.
It's really hard to understand if you've never been a self-harmer.
Well, it got to the point where I'd cut huge gashes into my legs and arms
Every. Single. Night.
On December 14th, 2010, I gave up.
I was sick and tired of living, and I got up the courage:
I went downstairs at night, and swallowed a handful of ibubphrophen.
I cried myself to sleep that night.
When I woke in the morning, I was DEVASTATED.
I had wanted SO much to die in the night.
So, so much....
I sobbed as I got dressed, and showered, cut, burnt, cut, cut...cut.
At school, I got called to the guidance office.
My mom had called the guidance counselor and asked if she could talk to me.
My mom said I'd been acting strange for a few days...
I broke down.
I bawled as I told the guidance counselor EVERYTHING.
She gently told me that she needed to call my mom to take me somewhere.
I was begging God to let mom take me home so I could take every single pill in the house.
But, no.
My mom came to get me, and drove me to an office building where they would evaluate just how suicidal I was, and what needed to be done.
After a few hours, they told my mom that I was scheduled to be admitted to Virginia Baptist Mental Health Hospital..
So off we went..
I spent 9 days in the hospital there.
At first, it helped.
I was glad to be going home,
I missed my family and friends.
For the next month, I was fine.
My gashes began healing over, and I was in steady counseling.
But then in February, it happened again.
My mom began making me feel like a disappointment,
so I returned to the razor.
One day, my mom and I got in a huge fight.
I left the house with no shoes or coat,
and walked about 2 miles to my friends house.
On the way there. I shredded my hands with pieces of glass I found,
ran through broken glass while trying to fun away from some guys trying to get me to get in there car, and considered heavely jumping into traffic.
Once I got to her house, I told her what was going on.
We told her mom what happened, and she told me that I could spend the night there if I called my mom and she said it was okay.
So I called my mom..
My mom said that if I didn't come out to the car in 10 minutes,
she was going to call the police.
At 8 1/2 minutes, my friend walked me down the driveway.
But at the end, I bolted.
There was NO way I was getting in that car...
My mom drove after me, but I was SPRINTING.
My friends older sister ran after me.
I stopped on the curb a block away, and sobbed.
Her older sister caught up with me and sat down and just held me.
Once the police cars started arriving,
my older sister took the place of my friends older sister.
My mom stayed in the car.
I got in one of the police cars, and they took me to the hospital.
I could've ridden in my moms car, but there was no way I was going to do that.
At the hospital, I showed up bleeding, crying and with a policeman.
(People were freaked out.......)
They cleaned up my cuts and evaluated that I needed to go back to the hospital.
I spent 6 days there.
I've been out of the hospital for 9 months, and I've only hurt myself 2 or 3 times.
Which is REALLY good for me. :)
Today I am a 14 year old freshman with faded pink lines on her arms, legs, hands and chest.
I play the flute, drums, trombone, piano and guitar,
I was recently in our schools production of "Grease."
I'm in our school's dancing/singing group, and I'm in my churches Praise Band.
I'm in our school's marching band, concert band and jazz band.
Everyday I struggle with making myself eat enough, and keeping myself safe.
But I have family and friends that I know will be here with me through it all.