Self Harm



Self Harm is a scary trait seen in people with mental illness. It’s something both hard to describe and explain to people who have never experienced it. I used to cut myself. Most often I cut my forearm with a knife used for model building. Although the scars have faded a bit over time they are still noticeable if you know where to look. I often lie about what I was using to cut myself, the rush of endorphin’s caused me to act like an addict. If i did not have a knife I would use my own fingernails. Digging into my skin like am trying to rip if off.

Why did I do it? That is a complicated question. The most simple answer would be to say it was for the chemical rush but there is more to it then that. That need to feel something, anything when your mind is going out of control…that self loathing feeling, I did not have the self value to think it was not ok to be hurt. The pain helped to focus the mind on something…anything. I haven’t self harmed in a long time…but the thoughts still occasionally cross my mind. All I can do is let the thoughts pass, and try not to dwell.



I carry my scars with me

Proudly like a badge

Proof I paid my fees

They show my courage


Even if they fade

I will still see them

I remember the blade

Others may condemn


They are a part of me, a past I built from


The greatest wisdom I can give to you from my short life on this earth is to speak. As humans we must learn to communicate our feelings to others, or let them rot inside us. Those rotting feelings poison our mind and body. We try to cut out this illness with a knife, or try and make the pain stop with deathly trauma.

We must learn to speak our feelings; we must learn to understand them by capturing them into words. It does not matter if you talk to someone, write them down, or yell them at the sky, as long as you say them! We live confusing lives, where understanding someone else’s pain seems impossible. The only way we can ever even try is to hear them, to read them, to seem them. Only then can we start to communicate.

There is no cure.

A lovely writer in another blog wrote ‘ will not consider myself recovered, ever.” Its a statement i find to be very true. There is no cure for my anxiety  or depression. I will always be dealing with such problems. In the past i let my anxiety overwhelm me enough to lose my chance at school and a normal life. I still feel that same anxiety to this day, i’ve learned how to coup with it. Am older, wiser, smarter, i’ve learned how to work my way past my anxiety  but its still there. I havent cut myself in five years, but that does not mean i wont cut tomorrow.

No matter how old i get, ill still be that geeky, depressed, anxiety filled kid who dropped out of school. I accept that, its not easy, but i do accept it. I cant change who i am, but i can work to be better. I can always try to be better, that’s what recovery is, even if am never recovered.

What can you say?

Depression is such a troublesome thing to deal with, in yourself and others. How do you speak to someone who is depressed, there are a lot of myths that have it wrong. There is no curing depression with a few kind words, never work on the assumption you can fix someone or make them all better, be happy if you can cheer up there day even a little. Understanding is where many fail, there is no understanding, even one depressed person to another will never fully understand each other. We simply have too many different perspectives, just be sincere.

Living with depression is not easy, and just trying to make your life livable is life changing. Medication and therapy go a long way, but there not cures. Everyone has a different state of mind, our minds cause us joy or sadness. If you don’t live with depression, don’t take what you have for granted. I feel strong for living this long, but i trade that strength for a normal childhood or a date.  Be kind to each other, you never know whats going on in the mind of the person sitting next to you, and sometimes a small kindness will be remembered. Speak how you feel, because no matter how obvious you think it is, its likely the person your talking to has no idea. Even if your words seem like ranting, understanding comes from such words.


Its hard for onlookers to know the sheer amount of emotional pain depression brings. The kind of pain that drives a girl to drink bleach, and others like me to cut themselves. It hurts, its scaring, it leaves wounds that can be reopened even years later. It can paralyze you, i spent more then one night on tear filled ball on the floor. We are victims to our emotions.

A suicide in the newspaper can still bring me to tears, i still find myself visiting the spot where others have jumped in front of a train. Perhaps am just empathetic in that way, but i find it hard to stop thinking about how much pain they where in. I felt that pain before, i remember it well. I don’t want others to feel that pain. I want to live in a world where if someone crys help me in the middle of the night, there will be someone around to hear them.

Asking for Help?

People like me often have a hard time asking for help. We reach for it, we beg for it, but we  cant ask for it. I was so accustomed to dealing with things myself. There was a feeling of shame in asking for help. I used to cut myself in a very visible spot, then wear long sleeves. I’ve battled to push the negative thoughts away, only to trap them in my head.

Its that self reliance that many people like me have grown accustomed to. That self reliance however breeds solitude and social anxiety.  “I need help” It become so hard to say, you start to beg to god for someone to notice and help you. Yet the shame you feel when they do notice only causes you to run away.

The simple truth of this world is that no one understands each other as much as we think we do. Your pain may feel world ending, but others will walk by not paying any mind. We need language to go further, we need words to understand. Your world is painful and it will always be painful till you let others share it, learn it, and understand it. The greatest enemy comes from within, and it can kill you if you don’t cry for help.