I may regret the minute I post this but it's been heavy on the dome lately. I had a pretty good life growing up. I had clean clothes on my back, shoes on my feet, food in my belly and a bed to sleep in. I also had family who loved me and friends who couldn't get enough of me. But, no one knew me. I used humor as a way of not letting people see me hurting. I had a secret that I kept hidden deep inside for a long time. I was unhappy and I had no reason to be. The more angry I was towards myself at being sad for no reason, the more sad I became. I was headed for death on a train called insecurity. I contemplated suicide often and when left alone in my room, I attempted it on occasion. But, I was never brave enough to go through with it. Eventually, as I became an adult, I gradually started practicing in self-mutilation or another way to put it is that I became a "cutter". I would use a razor blade that I kept deep in my top t-shirt drawer along with a first aid kit to nurse my wounds after the ritual. My left arm seemed to be my choice of mutiliation. I still have a few scars there that aren't that noticeable. It got so bad that I kept a journal of each day I did it and what I was feeling. At the end of each entry I would make my mark. I would let blood drop from my wound onto the paper. Every time I did that, I would be so ashamed and disappointed that I'd swear I wouldn't do it again. So I'd toss the razor. But, not long after, I'd just find a new one and start my ritual all over again. It was insane. I felt like I wanted to be caught so that my secret would be out and I could get help. But at the same time I didn't want to be caught because, let's face it, it was shameful. I really felt like my life had no real value and "what the hell was I here on this earth for anyway?" I was a big ball of confusion. When I found out that a certain celebrity whom I admired (Christina Ricci) had the same condition, it felt good knowing that I wasn't the only one. I couldn't afford a psychiatrist and I didn't want things to get so bad to where I had to wear certain things to hide my scars so I began to self heal. I prayed more often, I attended church frequently, I stopped trying to make a joke out of a serious situation I may have been going through at the time, and I started painting. I've always loved anything that had to do with the arts. I also started drawing, coloring, writing and playing the piano again. I began to care for and about myself. I stopped letting a relationship that was all bad, stress me out. I truly began to heal. It's amazing how fragile we humans are and how easy it is to lose control over your thoughts and feelings. The reason I decided to write about it now may have a lot to do with the fact that I've been up all night and it's 6:51am, but I'm just so grateful that God took me through that storm.I am now much stronger, wiser, and more loving than ever. I still have that journal by the way and I still take it out and read it sometimes. It reminds me of what I have secretly overcome. But, I'm thinking I may throw it away soon. Why hold on to the past? That person is no longer here. If you want to know more about "cutters" I found this website to be very informative : http://www.essortment.com/articles/self-injury_100006.htm Here's Hoping for the Best! LuV, MeLi
This is a good friend of mines and her message is so important. We as woman all have so many insecurities that we need to deal with. This has opened my eyes to how serious it can get.