Life from birth wasn’t amazing, it was bad, but it wasn’t amazing. There was always something that possessed my thoughts, depression and sadness is how I thought I should feel. For as long as I could know I would go off by myself, I would not participate and I would cry in the corner. I didn’t know why I did this, I just thought that this was how I was supposed to feel, sad, like it was destiny. As time grew on I surrounded myself with sadness, I would force myself to cry. I had grown to like this feeling, it was how I was SUPPOSED to feel right? Well one night, I decided to try, I self-injured. But this was how I was SUPPOSED to be. No matter how hard people tried to mask it, they were supposed to be depressed right? Well that is what I thought. I told someone when I did it, I didn’t think it was bad. But I did it again and again, but I thought nothing of it. It’s not like I was suicidal. It wasn’t addicting and when summer came I stopped I didn’t want people to think there was something mentally wrong with me. Still, I thought I was SUPPOSED to be sad. I came to realize how stupid I was, and came to decide that it was a problem. Self-injuring is not what I was SUPPOSED to do, a trip to Florida and a life changing encounter with God made me admit and cry til the carpet was soaked. I came back later and found a puddle of tears where I was sitting. There, I was better then. Nothing was wrong with me now, I’M FREE! Yeah right. For a couple months life was okay, not really but I made myself think it was. Self-injury was still in my thoughts though, I tried it again, it wasn’t half bad. I actually kind of liked it. I fell. I self-injured, I was pro at showing happiness no matter how hard I was falling. No one ever knew. But I knew I needed help. I had grown in relationship with some one 40 years my senior, a trusted someone, I thought I could tell them. One celebratory night, where everyone eats, I confided in this trusted someone. BAM! I screwed up BIG time. Life was awful. My parents had discovered, and I had trusted others. But every trust I gave, it back fired. I wanted to die. I didn’t want to commit suicide, but I wanted to die. I wish I could just painlessly pass away. But that wasn’t happening. I continued to self-injure but felt completely alone. I wasn’t alone, but felt that way. I would go 3 days with self-injury and then fall. 6 days, fall, 10 days, fall, 2 weeks, fall. I gave up. No one was happy with this. I was told in my darkest time that I would get help, that people would help me. I soon decided that the only way I would get better is if I helped myself, I busied myself spending time with other people no matter how unsocial I felt, I lost some friends because of this though. Instead of pacing and wallowing in pain I would read a book. When I felt like I would crack, I would write and write and write, on this blog, in a journal, on my hand, ANYWHERE. At times I would stare at my tool, contemplating the pros and cons of self-injuring just once and would soon talk myself out of it. But not without much determination. The urges grew stronger before they became lesser.  The urges became less, and less, and less. I finally felt better, but felt so, so fragile. Like one thing could make me crack, and I would have to start all over. I constantly asked myself why I hadn’t given up because it was so much easier to, why I hadn’t given in, I didn’t feel like anyone cared. I just hated the pain I felt, I longer thought I was SUPPOSED to feel this way, it just wasn’t morally right. I would cry constantly, I hated it. But as days went by my strength grew, I found a new life. I now, find myself constantly reading, just to fill my time that I would spend wallowing, pacing, blah blah blah. I feel better and the urges are gone. My tears have dried and I am fine. 🙂 I just want to encourage you, those who are feeling as if there is nothing they can do to stop, believe me, I felt that way, that you can do it. It is possible. If anyone wants to talk they can. My email is emily_shumaner@rocketmail.com.
?Emily