Coping vs. Cutting

**TRIGGER WARNING**




As I ponder my "sobriety" from that past behavior, I can't help but realize how different my mind is now. It was impossible for anyone to know how I felt when I didn't understand it myself. There was no light at the end of that damn tunnel, and I found all the justification in the world to back me up. Nobody believed me, but as long as I believed myself, that was all the reason I needed to grab whatever was closest and carve away at my porcelain skin and make it all go away, if only for a moment.

It's incredible. The process of treatment was nearly unbearable. I couldn't stand to look at my scars, but that's what I needed to face in order pull through. I was addicted to the behavior and the way it made me feel; but my obstacle wasn't my ex boyfriend or my stepfather's passing, the destructive behaviors of my friends or even my own self-harm; it was me. It was, and still is, all about me.

We deal with life on a daily basis and sometimes we don't even know why we do things. Why did I cut? Why did I isolate myself from those I wanted so much to be close to? Why did I seek help, but validation? There were emotions behind my actions, even if they were numbed down. I was scared- scared to death of losing someone else and frozen in my tracks, fearing my unknown future. I was sad- grieving my losses and life's constant inconsistency. I felt worthless... a fat, ugly, stupid, miserable failure. And all the rest of the baggage I'd been trying to numb down had been there since I was little.

My father walked out and I didn't know why. I wanted to fix everything, but I was just too small. My brother moved out, my stepfather died and I was left wondering what the hell went wrong. Freshman year, my first year in public school, started off with everyone thinking I was stoned because I was shy or high out of my mind because SSRI's fucked with my chemical balance. But if I tried to explain it all, even if I could, they would all think I was, well, crazy. I thought, who would believe antidepressants would do such strange things to a person? or that I still can't get over all the pain I've felt? What's wrong with me?

So, plain and simple, I started cutting. Just a little bit at first turned into every night as my first boyfriend emotionally abused me and I didn't know how to handle myself. I felt like a total freak, the unknown homeschool kid who suddenly popped up for everyone to spread rumors about. I hadn't known anyone since the 4th grade or even grown up in the same neighborhood. I thought it ridiculous that hugging my friends meant I was a slut (as I still do).

More cutting. More blood. More endorphins. More shaking. School, five days a week. More anxiety. More cutting.

And I just couldn't stop. I didn't want to, because obviously something was driving me to do it anyway, right? A trip to the psych ward, a few therapists.... Nope, nothing. Fuck them all. They don't understand. This self-harm thing is all new to them, so why would they try to help? What good could they possibly do for me?

I don't think I'd ever felt such intense fear as I did the day I was pulled away from my family, my friends and the only life I knew without any idea whatsoever when I might see it all again; and the idea of living in therapy for God knows how long was not appealing in the least. Nonetheless, I decided I would tough it out. I couldn't fight anymore. I couldn't run away and there was no more fooling anyone, especially a group of therapists in a residential treatment center.

Those first few months were the hardest of my life. I can't even begin to describe what it was like. Strangely, though, I realized that the more I gave in to emotional exercise this and take responsibility for that, the craving and urge to harm myself melted away. Establish the trust and just let it all out. And I don't think I've ever met such incredible people in my life.

I began to dance. I drew pictures. I played videogames. I talked with people. I called my mom and I fucking exercised to cope when I needed to. It was amazing. No longer would I try as hard to numb it down when I could heal myself instead, even in doing the most simple things.

Dealing with what was underneath, what I'd been carrying for so many years, confronted the actions that everyone tried to stop at the surface. And it hurt so much. And it was so worth it. Now, I can hardly grasp what it's like to go back to constant pain, fear and hopelessness. That damn tunnel is behind me and though there are shadows, they only prove the presence of the light and I am healing.



http://www.denverpost.com/lifestyles/ci_14312363