Strength

by Elizabeth

I looked into her eyes and felt
The pain that she did feel.
No one had understood before
But now it seemed so real.
She's happy when she hurts herself
Dark pleasure comes from pain.
She says that everything is fine
Then says she isn't sane.
One day she just decided that
The pain she couldn't bear
So she simply took a scissors
And cut off some of her hair.
Afterwards, she felt much better
Like she'd found a magic cure.
She said no more she'd do it--
Of that I wasn't sure.
If somebody else has hurt her
She herself can do worse harm
Again she took the scissors
See the cuts now on her arm.
She thinks that she is nothing
People tell her she is more
But she simply can't believe them
And to herself will close the door.
She says that by no one
Could she be ever understood
I wish she would let someone
Because I think that she could.

I was a senior in high school when I wrote that. I don’t recall the exact date, but I know that it was October of 1999. I was hurting so bad then. I hated high school. Supposedly, this was the best time of my life, but it sure didn’t seem that way. Who the hell was I? I wasn’t pretty or athletic or popular, and at school I just seemed to slip through the cracks. Most people liked me (though there were a few I hated and I’m sure the feeling was mutual), but I felt closed off from everyone there. I was a loser. I hated myself, but didn’t want to change who I was, so I found my answer.

The cutting had started a year or so earlier, sometime in the fall of 1998. I remember going into the bathroom during the school day, usually over the lunch hour, with a scissors, and scratching my upper arm with it. There was no blood, but the evidence was there: bright pinkish-red raised marks that would stay for hours. These were hidden by my blouses and sweatshirts. Eventually, this gave way to cutting with scissors, and then razor blades. I kept this a secret for the longest time. Someone found out, and I stopped…for nine months, and then I started up again. It was an on-and-off thing for a while. There were times when I was strong and wouldn’t give in to the desire, other times, there was no strength. Cutting was my release, my control, and my power. Other people could say things to me that hurt me, but I could do something so much more. I mean, look! They couldn’t make me bleed, could they? But I could. It only stung for a little bit. Then the blood would start to flow, and I’d look at it and feel the tension leave me. I’d put a bandaid or two (or more) over the cuts, and then go happily on my way.

Cutting wasn’t the only issue I dealt with. I wasn’t happy with my looks—my weight was too high and I wasn’t pretty enough. I wanted to be thin, so I tried diet pills. They didn’t work. I felt fat, and I was so embarrassed by it. One day during my senior year, I decided I had eaten too much, and over the lunch hour, went into the bathroom and stuck my finger down my throat. It took a while, but eventually I gagged myself enough to throw up. It was harder than I thought it would be. That was the only time I ever purged.

Spring of 2002 came. It was the end of the second semester of my second year in college. During this time, my life began to feel as if it was spinning out of control. Why? I won’t begin to mention the reason. Cutting, for a reason I couldn’t and still can’t explain, had begun to lose its appeal for me. However, I was still dealing with my weight and control issues. One day, I forgot to eat something, and ended up hysterical and almost in tears. At lunch, I realized that was part of the reason I was so upset. My friend offered me some of her French fries, and I ate two or three, then pushed the plate away. This was the beginning of a new endeavor for me. I could lose weight, make myself feel in control of my life, and I didn’t even have to cut to do it. So I cut back majorly on food intake. It was strawberry newtons (they were fat free), two a day, and that was it. Melissa noticed. We didn’t talk about it at the time, but recently she mentioned that to me. This went on for nearly two weeks. I lost 15 pounds. Was I in the beginning stages of anorexia? I don’t know. Maybe, but then again, maybe not. I’m really not sure.

It’s been going on seven months since the last time I cut myself and over a month since I have tried to starve myself. Has it been easy? No. Each day is different. I have my good days and my bad days just like everyone else. Some days, it is a struggle to not cut, and it can be hard to make myself eat. I am grateful for my friends: they’re there for me, but are strong enough to not enable me in this. Tyler even said to me, “If you ever cut yourself again, I’m going to cut you too.” And I know it isn’t the same anymore. Underneath the ache to cut, there is a knowing that it won’t be the same, and I won’t be able to at myself in the mirror and feel respect for the reflection staring back at me if I give in to that. I don’t need to stop eating either, for any reason. Not to lose weight, and not to feel in control. I’m responsible for my own well-being and happiness. Nobody else is. That’s my job to take care of, and it’s up to me to do it in a healthy and constructive way. It took me a long time to learn this. The past four years of my life haven’t been easy, nor have they been my happiest. But I am grateful for having gone through this, if this is what it took for me to get to the point where I am now. No matter what happens in the future, I will not give in to my instinct for self-destructive behavior. I won’t let myself get sucked into that again. Something that really bothers me is when people glorify these types of behavior, or make them sound like the only answer to their own pain and problems. That attitude angers and disturbs me. I really wouldn’t want a person in my life if they had that attitude. I know it sounds harsh, but it’s still too easy for me to sink back into the well of self destruction. Life is for the living…if you don’t want to live, then stay out of my life.

“It's my life
And it's now or never
I ain't gonna live forever!
I just want to live while I'm alive
It’s my life.”
--Bon Jovi, “It’s My Life”

© 2003 Elizabeth Costello. You must contact me if you would like to use this or any of my work. Thank you! :-)

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