I’m not sure why I’m here. I’m not sure what to do. I’m not sure of much.
I’m thirteen years of age, and I’ve been self injuring for a little over a year. I have a nice life- great parents that say they want to help, an older brother who actually likes me, good grades, enough money to get by. But something isn’t right.
I wish I knew what it was so that I could get destroy it. I don’t want to be like this. I don’t want to be a liar, a cheater, a self injure-er. But I am.
It’s not just that I’m hard on myself… yes, I’m a bit of a perfectionist, and yes, that causes enough stress by itself. But I know so many people, have so many friends, that have it so much worse. And they self injure. I would do anything to take their problems and make them my own… anything to try and save them, even if it means that I would have to deal with it. I don’t want to see them hurting.
My best friend is having a really hard time. Maybe it should bother me more, but there’s just not much that bothers me anymore. I don’t cry. I don’t eat for comfort. I don’t sit on the couch and stare, eyes glazed over.
I injure myself. It helps me to concentrate so that I don’t lose control. It calms me down. It doesn’t help, but it works… for a little while.
I can stop. And I’m not just saying that. I went four months without injuring, just because I didn’t want to be found out while I was in the locker rooms, changing for PE. But now I’m back to self injuring. Because I want it. I want the quick fix. I want a tangible solution.
I self injure so that no one can see it. Now, I’m not saying that I can go strutting around in a bikini, but I didn’t do that before anyway. I don’t want people to know; I don’t want their sympathy. I don’t want their help, because right now, this is my help.
I am so tired of drama. I am so tired of people hurt, because I am tired of hurting. I’m so tired, mentally and physically… I just want to sleep and sleep and sleep. I don’t know that I want to wake up. But I don’t know what will happen if I don’t.
Every day, I wear To Write Love On Her Arms. Every day, I tell my friends to be strong, hope is just as real as pain, they can get through this. Every day I lie through my teeth. Maybe I’m a hypocrite. Maybe I’m not. Who’s to decide? Who’s to judge me?
I used to believe in God. I don’t know anymore. If this God loves us all so much, why did he send a flood to wipe us out? Why is he going to get rid of the unfaithful ones? Why can’t we all get into this so-called Heaven, this so-called Paradise?
I am terrified of failure… and anything less than perfect is failure. I am a failure, in my own eyes if no one else’s. I am a failure because I can never get away from this. I will never be done with this, I will never forget this. Because I am this.
What happened to equality? Why do we prosecute people who love the same sex, or who hurt themselves for a form of comfort? What happened to tolerance? What happened to acceptance? What happened to empathy?
I don’t know where I’m going with this. I don’t know if it helps or if it hurts. I don’t know what I want it to do. I don’t know a lot, but that doesn’t mean that I want to.