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chemicallydamaged · 4 years

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Recovery: The Stigma Of Struggle 2/2 (TW)

Please do not read further If you are easily disturbed or affected by mentions of self harm, weight gain, or suicidal behaviors. I wrote this to help someone feel less alone and share my experience- not to potentially trigger someone. Please be safe.

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I told my parents about my several-year long addiction to self harm, despite starting at the age of seven. I've never once been to a therapist, counselor, psychologist, or a psychiatrist. I mainly have scars on my thighs, but I also have them on my waist, face, feet, hands, hips, and so on. I have used needles, glass, push pins, scissors, exacto-blades, knives, razors, and whatever else I could get my hands on. It became an addiction before I even knew what and addiction was.

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(This is an unprofessional, messy rough draft that I wanted to post so you know i'm not dead. I may edit this sometime in the future and delete this lil message thingy.)

Suddenly, you become a liar- that's how these things go on for so long, that's how this cycle eats you alive; “I hate getting wet”, “I just get cold easily”, “The cat scratched me”, and so on. You do anything to protect this secret, this horrible fucking brain eating, exhausting secret- while also hoping someone would ask how you are, maybe ask what's going on, and yet you still lie to them. Help doesn't feel for you- help doesn't always feel like an option.

I always felt like everytime I cut, it was like shutting my thoughts up for a few seconds. I had so much swarming in my head, so many negative, screaming thoughts eating away at my brain, that I would do anything to relieve the tension. Everything irritated me. So when I got home, and all these memories of screaming parents and asshole students and shitty teachers screamed in my thoughts, I couldn't take it. For me, I convinced myself of two options; self harm, or ending my life.

June, maybe July of 2020. I haven't gone outside for a very long time, using covid fear as an excuse. I would be in such deep wallows of depression I could barely move; at that point I had gained so much weight I was scared of taking showers. I was scared of going outside. I was scared of eating. I used a group chat in one of my friend’s servers to get me through it, at least so I could socialize in one way or another. I wanted to get better, yet I was too exhausted to take the steps of recovery. I had tried to quit a few times at that point, only to fall back in. I would be taking a plane ride to see family (safely) and I was so fucking scared. It would be incredibly hot over there, I couldn't wear shorts, I was depressed, I had low-self esteem, and now I had to socialize with family I hadn't seen in several years. I was convinced they would be disappointed in me, I really didn't want them to be ashamed.

When I finally got there, everything had changed. They looked so different- my little cousin, who I remembered as a toddler, was now a kid. My aunts were more stressed out than I had ever noticed before. Some pets had passed away, and the area of town had become pretty run-down. I had always wanted a little sister, and felt like I missed out on a lot of those years- so I tried to spend as much time with her as I could. She was so happy and so energetic, I was so surprised to see that she was excited to meet me. She didn't care about how I looked or how awkward I was, she just wanted to do art and make mudpies and jump on a trampoline, like a kid. I missed out on water balloons, refusing to wear shorts, which upset everyone because I wouldn't be able to play. I took that time to lock myself in a bedroom and cry. When I thought of her ever doing what I was doing to myself, I broke down completely. I would have been self harming for a year by her age. I missed out on so much. To think that she could ever go through that terrifies me and shakes me to my core. She is like a little sister i've never had. I thought of my brother and how he would be upset, so see his actual little sister go through this the whole time. This is still hard to think about. This was my first kick in the ass to recovery. I was going to commit.

I came home in a lot of pain. I couldn't stop thinking about it. I kept impulsively grabbing objects, picking at my skin, biting my nails, and going fucking crazy. I was so close, so many times. I can barely express the amount of stress I was in, not being able to use what I believed to be my only coping mechanism ever since I can remember, knowing for sure I absolutely could not and would not do it. I had to fight with my brain 24/7 just to stay afloat, to have self-control.

Fast forward 4-ish months and I was finally about to tell my mom, but at the wrong time. The closest self harming behavior I had was skin scratching, but that was better than cutting. We had gone to the store to pick out some clothes and I was really excited about it; however, the closer we go to the changing room the harder my heart throbbed out of my chest. If she went in with me, she would see all the scars. We had gotten to the changing room, and she went in with me. I froze up, in cold sweat, and couldn't do or say anything. Just as she said “Oh woops do you not want me in th-” I broke down. In a grocery store changing room. For everyone to hear. She sat me down and comforted me, like a cool mom. I was surprised, I thought she would be embarrassed. I told her about everything. She supported me. I couldn't stop shaking, unsure of weather to be sad or happy. I finally said something. I was relieved. I finally did it.

My dad was less accepting after my mom told him first. Because he doesn't believe in “organized help” and instead believes you have to “get through anything on your own, because that's what I DO” It was probably a bit of a struggle for my mom to talk to him. He avoided me for a few days, until he was ready. When I had finally told him, it turned out to be ok. He wasn't happy with me but he wasn't pissed either so that's a positive. My brother had a similar reaction. A lot of friends didn't care. But some still did, and I'd rather have a few real friends than a lot of fake ones. Sounds like a bunch of hippie dippie Karen bullshit but I genuinely feel way more positive about this then when I first told my parents. I hope to get mental health help soon, although there are so many people trying to get it that its difficult to find a good therapist thats available (Thx c0v1d, u sur3 r g8 0n m3ntal h3alth <3). For now, i'm just doing the best I can- im still going to struggle, but that's part of life. Im happy with that.

This is only my side of the story.

Yours doesn't always have to be the recovery, but it can be the ask for help.

(2/2)

Hope your doing well, wherever you are.

#self harrrm #self harm recovery #stories #part 2 #tw suicice #tw #tw self destruction #get help #its ok #i swear #love yourself #please #or else #ill eat your face #stop reading these tags #stop

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