mystory

MY STORY      When I was about twelve or thirteen years old, I took the glass from a picture frame, wrapped it in a towel and smashed it on my dresser. I then selected a piece of the broken glass and cut the fleshy portion of my right palm. I have no idea where this came from or why I wanted to do it. It was only really a scratch and it hardly even bled, but somehow it gave me something I needed. I didn't know it then, but when I cut myself that very first time it would continue for the next 20 years.
      During the next few years I continued to cut myself, never anything deep. I would also burn myself with a curling iron, hit my hand with a hammer, hoping for a broken bone. Sometimes even hitting my face. I would even slam down a window on my hand. What I didn't realize during this time was that I was very unhappy. I was trying to bring the pain that I felt inside to recognizable pain on the outside. During this time - from when I was 12 until I was 18 I would continue to do these things every couple of months.
      When I graduated from high school, I went away to college. Although I was a good student in high school, I flunked out of college. I was not very happy there and during that time I never hurt myself, but I started eating more and more. I know now that I made myself fail college. I did it unconsciously so I could go home. When I came back home, I started at a junior college and managed to do ok there. I also started working at the grocery store where I worked during high school. I was in a very deep depression, though I kept it very well hidden or so I thought. During this time all I wanted to do was to die. The self-injury came back full force. Sometimes I would work in the deli and one night when I was alone I turned on the slicer and put my finger in it. This resulted in my first largest injury. I needed five stitches in my finger. The funny thing was that it never even hurt until I was at the hospital. I also sometimes worked in the bakery department, and the hot pans and oven racks became a very convenient way to hurt myself. Over the course of about a year, I must have burned the inside of my arms 30-40 times.
      The depression was so bad that I constantly thought about suicide, but I could never do it. Then I discovered razor blades. They were used all the time at the store in box cutters. I had a never ending supply. I continued to work at the store for the next couple of years. Whenever I got really depressed I would cut. It would take away the desire to kill myself. It gave me relief. This sounds strange but in a way cutting may have saved my life. I had found an outlet for my pain. About this time I started cutting where no one would see the marks. I never cut really deep at that time.
      When I was 24 I got a new job. For a while I seemed to get better. The periods between hurting myself got farther and farther in-between, but I also started gaining more and more weight. I guess I traded one for the other. Nothing much happened for the next couple of years. It seemed like the really bad depression was gone. Little did I know it would come back full force. Over the next year I became more and more unhappy. It was the darkest time I had seen. My weight was at an all time high. One day I decided to kill myself. I had the razor blades all ready and drove to a forest preserve. I started to make the first cut and I couldn't do it. Then a song came on the radio called "Walk On" by Reba McEntire and it just stopped me. Somewhere I saw a ray of hope. I knew this wasn't what I really wanted, but I didn't know what else to do. I ended up driving home and the next day called my insurance company for a referral to a therapist. I chose a woman whose office was close to my home, but wouldn't you know it, she had just gone on vacation for two weeks. When I finally got to see her I thought there was no way that I could do this. It took me eight weeks before I could tell her about the cutting. I've been with her for four years now and over that time the cutting got really bad. I've had to get stitches three times, and probably a dozen more but I always managed to fix them myself.
      At times I felt that the therapy was to blame for the increase in cutting. I understand now that it only increased as I talked about everything that was bothering me. All of those bottled up feelings I couldn't handle, so the alternative was to hurt myself. About 8 months ago I made a contract with my therapist that I will not hurt myself anymore. With one minor slip-up I have been injury-free for that last 8 months. The urges to cut are still there and I'm not entirely sure if they will ever go away, but I believe that I'm strong enough to stop them.

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