don’t start me trying, now.

10 years ago, I cut myself for the first time.  I was 11 years old, and I had just gotten home from school.  I had ridden the bus, and the children had tormented me in much the same way as they had tormented me every day for as long as I could remember.  I was so fucking sad, and lonely, but mostly I was just infuriated.  With them, certainly, but mostly with myself–how weak was I that I let their words affect me so?  Was I not meant to be stronger than them?  Pacing in front of my house, I looked down and saw the top half of a plastic knife, and suddenly I had an idea.  Maybe, just maybe, if I could learn to withstand physical pain, emotional pain would be a cinch.  And furthermore, it would be physical proof that I was stronger than Them.  With no regards for sanitation, and no real knowledge of exactly what it was I was doing, I picked up the knife and quickly slashed at the back of my left hand.

Of course, it didn’t really do anything.  But with persistence, I finally managed to break the skin.  Later, as the wound was healing, I would pick at the scab to prevent it healing—completely unaware that this, too, was considered unhealthy.

I read once that self-injuring behaviors usually taper off after 10 years, if the self-injurer manages to live that long.  Well, here I am, celebrating the 10 year anniversary of something I wish I had never done.  At 21 years old, I have more than 500 scars, and of these, I can think of only 3 that aren’t self-inflicted.  Self injury has become such a defining part of me that I can’t really remember who I was before. 

It’s suffocating, really.  I have spent 10 years hiding.  I haven’t worn a t-shirt since 2005.  I haven’t worn a bathing suit since 2001. 

But I need to get this out.  I need you to know.  Because THIS is who I am.  I am that person, that one over there, the one you never even noticed.

I have been at open diary for the last 8 years.  But here, I am going to be ME, finally.  Because I am so tired of hiding who I am, to the point that I cannot even admit, in full anonymity, that I have a problem.