Deep.

No, this post has NOTHING to do with Valentines day ... other than what I just posted.




I've been wanting to post this for awhile, but I've never really sat down and typed it all out. Well, everything I've wanted to say about it. So here it goes. I think I'm ready, and in a way, I'm excited. I feel like this is going to help someone. And if it does, please let me know.







7th grade, a new girl came to our school. She was beautiful, and funny, and nice, and everyone wanted to be friends with her. I became decent friends with her, and we talked on a daily basis. We had this notebook that we passed back and forth with notes to eachother. We told eachother our deepest secrets, and things we wanted no one else to know. Eventually, the topic of self harm came up, and she confessed that she would cut herself. She told me she would take the spring out of the side of a spiral notebook, and cut her forearm with it. Since she was so popular, I decided I wanted to do the same thing to be "cool" like her, and draw major attention to myself. So I began cutting myself as well, but instead of a spring, I took an actual razor. After awhile, she stopped cutting herself and was done for good. Her and I then stopped being friends, and I became "close" with another girl in my classes. She was, as I called, a "major" cutter as well. She used a razor, she even popped pills at times. Her and I also had a notebook we passed with notes. I wrote something in there to her about me being sexually assaulted and how I wanted to commit suicide. I had been lying about the sexual asssault ... not so much the suicide. She turned it into my school councelor, who then called my parents. I was taken to the hospital, and had to stay for a few hours under "suicide watch" if you will. They asked me tons of questions, had me tested for things, and I had to talk to 3 different councelors. Finally, I was released and they let me go home. My mom made me see a Christian councelor after school a few days a week, and I talked to my school councelor. By the end of my 7th grade year, I had everyone convinced I was fine again, and was done cutting/pill popping.

But then came 8th grade year.


The summer of 8th grade, I was a horrible kid ... I truly was. I got high, I got drunk, I smoked Newports and bragged about it. I sexted (yeah, in 8th grade), and I cussed more than anyone I knew. I claimed I was a Christin then, because I went to church, so I was saved back then. But during my 8th grade year, something just hit me: I became depressed like crazy. I went back to cutting, and got serious. I wasn't doing it for attention anymore, I was doing it because I was hurt, I was searching for something. I would go to Target, with my mom, and buy razors (not shaving razors, like arts&crafts razors), and tons of erasers (I would erase my skin to wear it broke, and got infected and burnt like fire). After about a month or so, I had 2 or 3 different cutting razors, a knife, erasers and scissors in a make up bag I carried with me, for "on the go" problems. I would cut everywhere I went ... school, home, the mall, even church. I remember going to a modeling meeting, and I was so stressed out by something my mom did, that I ran to the bathroom balling my eyes out just cutting my arm in every place I saw; it was crazy, because nobody actually knew.
In math class one day, I took my wallet out to show a kid sitting next to me my ID, and I happened to have a razor blade in the clear pocket of my wallet. He saw it, and took it out of my purse when I left. He took it to the principals office. I was called down to the office that day, and was asked what it was. I told him it was a razor, while extremely scared. He asked me why it was in my purse, and all I could do was show him my arm. He called my cheerleading coach, my mom, and my councelor all to the office. Needless to say, I was released from the cheerleading team, had more meeting set up for when I got back from suspension, and was suspended for having a razor on school property. He gave me 5 days instead of 10, for my reasoning. During those 5 days, I was in and out of counceling and had to give my mom all my "utencils". Those 5 days were some of the roughest. I went back to school, and played it off as fine ... again. Some time went by, and again I was back to buying razors and cutting. I remember one night I just couldn't take it anymore. I went downstairs crying to my mom, and just showed her my arm ... I didn't know what to say or do, I just needed to tell someone. We went upstairs in my room crying, and just talked. Well, tried. We were both so torn up, there wasn't a whole lot to say.


I finally got rid of everything, and started going to church. I met with a few leaders from church who truly guided me, and helped me through that situation. They led me to Christ, who has saved me and set me free from that depressive state.




Man. Sitting here writing this I've been crying. Its so crazy to think back on those days, and see how far God has brought me. Out of depression, and set me free. I can't believe it sometimes ... it just totally amazes me.


A lot of people ask the same question when I tell my story, "WHY?! Thats so ... weird." In actuality, its more of a "control" thing. When something went wrong, I could cut and have control over the pain, and over the anger. It sounds completely wack, I know, but for some people, like me, it "helped".


Judge me if you please on this next portion, but its just me being real.
Cutting feels good, to me. I havn't cut in over 3 years now, but it just does. I don't really know how to explain, but theres just a rush when cutting. I'd always get closer to a vein, or deeper into the skin; it was always a matter of how far I could go, how bad I could hurt myself. I loved sitting in the shower, just tearing apart my skin. Or sitting on my bed erasing until it scarred. Gosh, I really don't know how to say it. I just loved the feeling of cutting. Yeah, it burnt and it hurt, but it gave me a "frenzy" of some sort, and I just couldn't stop. Sometimes, I would even do it for fun. I tried so hard to cover it up after I cut. I bought medications for it, tons of scar cream, but nothing completely got rid of the evidence ... which is ok by me now. I've never showed anyone my arm, nobody ever notices. Sometimes I wonder how, but they never do. I look at it sometimes, and can't help but cry. I just can't believe how far I've come.


I'm waiting for the day that I get to preach on this part of my testimony. I know how many girls (and guys) self harm in America, and it breaks my heart because I've been there. I've seen both sides, and I know how to make it over the wall and how rewarding it is on the other side. I want to tell my story, and I want to save people by it.


You are the same yesterday, today, and forever. My father, my bestfriend, the love of my life. Forever.





If you made it this far, I wanted to say thank you for taking the time to read this. I know for some people, these things are hard to read and imagine, but thank you. I hope you don't think of me any differently, because I have changed more than anything since then, and I couldn't be more proud of myself. If you happen to see me, and want to see my arm, don't be afraid to ask. Like I said, I love sharing and I would love to share/explain/testify to the marvelous things the Lord has done in and through me.
God bless.