I have a problem. It is an addiction and it is serious. I cut myself. When I am angry, panicked, scared, depressed, or just sad it is my way of coping. I first cut myself when I was fifteen, and it has taken me seven years to admit that I had a problem. Like any other addiction, I thought I was in control, that I could stop at any time, and that it wasn't really a problem.
I cut myself the first time to try and prove a point. My father drank a lot and I was trying to think of a way to get a message across to him that he was hurting his family deeply. Talking to him, crying, writing to him..nothing seemed to make a difference. Somehow I thought that maybe if I did something drastic, like cut myself because of his drinking, he would realize what an impact his actions were having on us. I was nervous and couldn't seem to make myself do it at first. Then I tried just running the razor blade over my skin and was surprised when blood began to seep through my skin. It hadn't hurt at all. I cut my arm twice, and leg once. Then I felt very ashamed and cried. My Mom saw and became angry with me and my Dad said I was "stupid". I had always thought of hurting myself before, but this was the first time I'd ever done anything like this.
The next time was a few months later. I had gotten into a huge fight with my parents over something they were furious at me for that I did not feel I deserved punishment for. I felt guilty about what I'd done, but it had not been my fault. I was furious at them and at myself. I ran upstairs and into the bathroom after everyone left the house. Using my razor blade, I screamed and cried "It's not my fault!" as I literally hacked at my upper left arm with angry, vicious slashes. My arm was covered in small, bloody cuts and one large, deep gash that I still bear the markings of today. It was my first scar. I hid my cuts with long sleeves until they healed enough to not be so noticeable.
Over the years I have cut myself deeply and horribly with razor blades and knives for various reasons and heartaches. My arms and some of my legs are covered in terrible scars. I call them my "battle scars" for each one marks a time in my life where things became so unbearable, I had no other way to cope. The cuts kept getting worse and the frequency with which I did so became more. There are times that I cut myself just to cut myself, because, in truth, I liked to do it. There was something healing about "bleeding out the pain". When I could not deal with the pain on the inside, I brought it forth on the outside. This pain was real, I could feel it and see it and I could deal with that. It calmed me, it soothed me.
As the number of scars on my arms grew to be impossible to hide and more than a little frightening looking to the uninitiated, I began to realize that I could not stop by myself. A good friend talked me into taking the first few steps: admitting to everyone I had a problem and taking the first steps towards recovery. Right now I am on that road to recovery, taking the first few steps with a positive outlook on the future and the feeling I'm doing the right thing.
I believe it changed for me when I realized that I'd been waiting for the "want" to cut myself to go away. But I realized, just like recovered alcoholics who never stop wanting the alcohol, I would always want to cut myself again. I had to learn to say no to my addiction and find other ways of coping. Even as I take the first few tentative steps toward stopping, there is a part of me that doesn't want to stop. It will take all of my willpower to never cut myself again, but I know that I can do it.