Helen
It's hard to remember a time when I didn't cut; it seems like a lifetime away. Cutting and harming myself have become like a way to help me live; a way to help me deal with everything that hurts or stresses me in my life. The first time I cut, I didn't have a clue what I was doing. It was a strange feeling just to pick up a piece of glass and scratch my arm, and even stranger to discover that it made me feel better.
I hadn't really heard of others who self-harmed, so I thought that I was crazy to do such a horrible thing to my body. What I did know was that it made me feel better. It helped the emotional pain I was feeling at the time leave me for a while, because it was now turned into a physical pain that I could understand more easily.
After that first initial cut, I didn't think about it again till three months later. My mother had thrown me out of her house. Not because I was a bad teenager, but because she belonged to a church, and when I left the church at fourteen, she and I didn't get on anymore (although she had abused me all my life anyway). I wanted to be able to listen to music, go out with friends and just do all the things that every teenager does. So, at the age of sixteen, she threw me out. Thankfully, I had some good friends who let me stay with them until I could get a house with the Young Single Homeless Project in Aberdeen. It was when I got my flat and began to live alone that the cutting properly started. Being alone was hard. I was still at school trying to study for my Highers, and trying to balance that and paying bills was tough. I remember times when I'd be out with friends, putting a face on; pretending everything was alright. Then I'd go home and just cut myself. I knew I needed help; I just didn't know how to tell someone that I was actually cutting my own arms. I was so frightened I would get locked up!
Eventually, I spoke to the school nurse. It felt so good to talk to someone who assured me I was not crazy! She referred me to a psychiatrist who worked in the local young people's department of the psychiatric hospital. From there, I began to explore and find out the real reasons why I was cutting myself. I've now seen many different psychiatrists through the years; some whom have helped, some who have maybe made things worse. I've been suicidal and attempted suicide four times. I've been an in-patient at the local psychiatric hospital. Now I see a good psychiatrist once every three months and a good psychologist once a week, where we work on traumatic memories from the past and try to deal with them so I can get on with my life.
I cut because I want to get all the memories and horrible feeling out; so I bleed them out. It's because of the abuse I suffered when I was younger. Now when I cut, I'm in control of the abuse.
I think, for me, self-harm has become an addiction; but it's just a case of finding out another way of coping without hurting myself. I would love to wake up one day and not ever have to think about self-harming again.
I'm working so hard to get to that day!
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