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the deeper i go, the better i feel

My mind races. And my legs twitch. I lye in bed trying to sleep. But my body is so tense I feel like I could run a marathon. I'm distraught. I try crying myself to sleep. It's worked before; but not tonight. Just as I think I'm about to scream, the thought enters my mind. A thought I haven't thought of in a while. To cut. It had been over a month since I last resorted to this coping skill. I try to dismiss it as my tears grow stronger and faster; drenching my hair and pillow. There's no avoiding it - I reach over to my table and reach for my razor blade.

This has been a common action for me through out the last two years; cutting. I still remember the first time I did it. I was in the tenth grade. I was in science class with no work to do. Everyone was talking to each other - except me. I was all alone. A loser. I grew anxious and uncomfortable as I took a screw and began ripping up my paper with it. I continued doing that same action until my eyes left the paper, and spotted my arm. I did not know what I was doing, but I took the screw and began ripping up my arm with it. Over and over. I created four xs in a row...which to this day still remain on my arm. I felt nothing. Not knowing what I had done, or that it was considered a bad thing, I went to lunch with my friends barring me new bloody adventure.

I did it once more that school year, and over the summer I did not do it at all. Then school started again. I began to feel overwhelmed again. In adequate, alone, out of place. Depressed. It was around this time two years ago that I did it again, and again, and again. As the winter grew darker, so did my life. Before I knew it my left forearm was covered with scratches. I would cut in school, and once I got home from school. It grew worse. I began to burn myself. I tried making an understanding teacher aware that I was in trouble, by not covering my arm. He never noticed. And soon after, he left. I remember it was sometime in April. I was alone for dinner that night. As I sat at the table eating, my bottle of zoloft caught my attention. I had the bottle for dessert. I told one of my good friends. She was the one who had let my mom know about my cutting and me being suicidal. She took me to the hospital that night. I can still remember the look of worry and disappointment on hers and my family's faces. It was not a bad overdose. I didn't get my stomach pumped, or charcoal or anything...I just stayed the night.

Shortly after, I was called to guidance at my school. Three of my teachers were worried about me! I began seeing a councillor there, and my psychologist. Things were ok. Even though I continued cutting and secretly overdosing. I remember that summer was the first time I cut down to the fat. What a shock. I also began starving myself. But, things were ok.

Grade 12 started, and as it went on I started cutting more often. I had to cut into the fat, otherwise I would not consider it a cut. I continued seeing my psychologist and even a psychiatrist. I tried many anti-depressants, and an anti-psychotic. My anxiety grew a lot worse. I could not sleep. Would not eat much. And I isolated myself from everyone. Losing most of the friends I actually had. I was addicted to cutting my arms.  The scars became worse and worse as I cut even worse. I ended up graduating with a 94% average. (5 easy courses!) I was glad school ended, but summer came. And I did nothing. As I only had a couple friends...who I avoided sometimes because I was so embarrassed and hated myself. I was too scared to get a job. And my college course was cancelled.

I still do not remember that time very much. As towards the ending of July I took another overdose...which people found out about. Because I fell unconscious and was having seizures. I woke up the next day ( I think) in the ICU at the hospital. They told me I attempted suicide. Even though I still do not remember it and much of the time before that. Although, I know I did try to kill myself earlier that summer. Everyone was freaked out. A couple weeks later I had an intake interview at the Royal Ottawa Hospital ( the mental hospital in my city) They took me in as an inpatient. I'm glad I went. I was very lucky to have gone at that time.  There were great people there. But, I broke my contract and cut. It was the only time I got stitches, because I hit an artery. My mood fluctuated like crazy. I continued cutting on my passes. I grew so desperate for self harm there so I began burning myself with cigarettes, head banging, hitting and hair pulling. There were a few times there where I had a bruised forehead and a bald patch on my head. I was diagnosed with social anxiety disorder and depression. After two months I got discharged. I got my medication sorted out, and grew a bit more comfortable with myself.

Once I was discharged, I was admitted into their partial program. Which is just going in to the hospital during the day for groups. Which is where I am writing this now. On the couch in the TV room. My cutting's ok now. I 'cut' last night....but not deep enough. But, before that I hadn't cut in over a month. I feel more comfortable in my surroundings. But, I still feel like shit and hate myself. Meh. It's life. Enjoy.


submitted by: Anonymous
on: 18 Nov. 2005
in Ritual

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