Where does one begin, My first cut, Or my last? Let’s take on the first. Well I was “young and stupid” oh yes very insensitive of me to say that but truly I was because if I knew better I wouldn’thave took that razor to my wrist right?. Well since time machines don’t exist and I have no desire to relive my high school years we will accept it for what it is. I used to selfharm. And this is my story dun! dun! Lol
Now where does one begin?. When I was 16 the school counselor asked me where I learned of selfharm? The question took me back way back because in grade 8, my first year of highschool I was serverly bullied and during that year some people came to our school to talk about dealing with addictions giving your life over the the Good Lord and all that jazz the beginning of their talk they played a video showing a bunch of teenagers doing what teenagers do best. Getting drunk, fighting, cursing eachother out and taking drugs and of course the only part that stuck in my mind was the last part of a teenage boy sitting on his bed all alone cutting his arm with scissors. Come to think of it Why was the video so graphic? I know we were all highschool’s but come on. Anyway I don’t know but in my mind it played and played like a stuck record the blood the scissors the look on his face. It was so tragic yet so beautiful. My young mind began liking this I was already planning my suicide (like seriously I had a date sircled on my calendar and everything) and i was drinking cleaning chemicals on weekends trying to die obviously. I have a flair for the dramatics, Honestly thought what is it with our brains and the love for distruction? I’ll Google that later.
The first joyful cut was so tiny it felt good which really makes no sense right I mean here I am in the toilet under the pretense that I’m doing a number 2 but no I’m in there cutting my wrist, little bubbles of blood popping up and I’m smiling like an idiot. Who does that? Well me of course that’s why I’m here today obviously. See that’s a another thing once you selfharm it controls you not the other way around if you are selfharming right now and you think you have control over it think again this ain’t a romance novel there won’t be a happy ending if you keep up with this. See now I’m ranting back to the story! Oh yeah so this is me picture a lonely kid no friends wait no I had a friend she basically used me for my money and dumped me in that first year for the popular squad which I couldn’t fit into because well duh sad kid with “cat scratchs on her wrists” who has bad body odor just couldn’t make it into the group. Sounds like a mini Mean Girls senario well except I didn’t bother to care about fixing myself. Depression will suck the life out of you people! then I went and found myself a bandwagon of misfits started smoking cigarettes, wearing my uniform really short and wore my jersey in the summer. Too frikken commical no wonder people kept going in on me I mean come on I was the only black girl in that group of misfits. I had a bunch of Bobby pins in my hair that I didn’t need and pretend i smoked cigarettes so I could atleast fit in there. The things we do!!!
The picture above is the current state of my arms I haven’t cut in atleast 7 looooong months. *Inserts applauds here* now that I’m not cutting I see them as healing Scars, just stories begging to be told. And boy do I have stories to tell get your wine this will be a long one!