Since April of 2013, I've been addicted to self harm. It wasn't as bad as it is now. It started out as a feeling. I was failing a class. Earth Science. I was in tenth grade then. In the beginning, it was pretty much pencil poking. I don't know, but I felt as if...something inside me needed to do it, and so I did. It was a temporary relief, and I just kept on doing it until I got caught. The teacher told on me. She told on me, and for a little while, I was able to stop. The addiction was on halt. I didn't have the feeling for awhile. At least until August of 2013. ...Poking became scratching. Albeit, with my nails. I only did it twice. I ended up leaving scars all over my right arm from a mental breakdown I had one day. I don't know what I was feeling then, but I know I could have done better. I probably knew deep down that it didn't have to be this way. So, again, for a while, I was able to stop. A month, which I guess isn't a while. After that, it got even worse. School rolled back in, and my insecurity got really bad. My anxiety got even worse. I ended up stealing paperclips and in the back of my mind, I thought "this will make me feel better," that feeling became a catalyst. Every day, sans the weekend, because I didn't have anxiety, I would use paperclips to cut myself. There was this illusion that went through me: "I feel something. I won't feel numb anymore, red is wonderful" whatever it was, it empowered the part of me that desires to be perfect, and eventually, I practically cut a vein. That wasn't pretty. Deep down, I realized that "this isn't what I wanted. I didn't want to get a permanent scar! This isn't what I'm supposed to do to cope with anxiety!" But I couldn't stop. The addiction was already in overdrive. And the addiction doesn't leave me. At some point, for a little while, my home anxiety was even worse. I don't know why, but for a small time, I turned to kitchen knives and poking something with that. That didn't last long, but for some time, the addiction was even worse. Often I wonder, why I would turn to this, and it seems I have no answer.
I am getting help. I'm seeing a psychologist, but this addiction is overpowering me. It's completely overpowering me, and I can't break free from it. I admit, it's gotten better. I've been cutting a lot less now. I've barely cut in about a week. I haven't really this month at all, but the addiction still exists. It's still inside me. And I know it's going to require something for me to stop with this. Anxiety or Anti-depressants. Because I know, this is not okay. I know that this needs to stop. And I know that I shouldn't be cutting at all.
I know...trust me...
I'm sitting here, typing this in long sleeves because I can't wear short sleeves. Not with my arm as red as freaking Christmas. I have to hide all my cuts and scars from publicity. I don't want people asking me about them. I have to lie and act as if I got scratched by a cat because I don't want people to think I'm crazy...I don't want people to think I'm this mental child who needs to be put in an institution, so I hide my cuts from public.
It doesn't feel good to lie.It doesn't, but it's just something I feel is right to do.
When I go back to my psychologist. (I don't know what's going on with that) I'm bringing up anti-depressants again. I'm sick of cutting, and I can't stop on my own. I don't remember how.
