Deeper

CONTENT WARNINGS​: self-harm, suicidal thoughts/suicidal ideation, graphic imagery ***

Hello,

Let me start off by telling you this blog is going to be hard to read, especially to the ones that I cherish and the ones who love me the most. So before I start, I should warn you that before you read this...you might not want to do so.

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A lot of people do not understand and probably will never understand the want and the urge to hurt yourself while feeling low. I am going to try to explain it in the very best way I know how and even then, I believe that it may still not make sense unless you have been in my mind, and no one has been there.

If you read my first blog ("I Am Me"), you learned that I was bullied in elementary school and I guess, in a way, that is where my story began. I can remember the very first time I decided to cut. I was in the 4th grade and I am not so sure what happened at school that day but I know it was bad enough for me to walk home with teardrops coming down with every step I took. I was lonely and weak. I walked in the house, threw my book-bag on the floor next to the front door, and ran upstairs to my room because that was the only place I wanted to be. I shut the door and screamed into my pillow so the rest of my family couldn’t hear me.

Tears still in my eyes, I was hurting. I opened up my cabinet to all of my arts and crafts, took my pencil box out and opened it. Sitting on top of the markers, color pencils, and broken crayons was a pair of pink scissors. Without thinking, I opened them up, found the sharpest side, and then I sliced my wrist. The very first time, it hurt... And then it felt so good. So, I took my right hand, picked up the scissors, and did it again. This time no pain, just pleasure. Then, again and again. I think four times was enough for that day, but when I was finished, there were no more tears in my eyes. I felt balanced.

All of my emotional and mental pain was overflowing and nothing on the outside hurt, but the moment I tore my skin open I felt equal, even. It was a rush of adrenaline—the kind I have never felt before. I did not want anyone to know so I went to the bathroom, cleaned the blood off the scissors, and wore long sleeve shirts until my wounds healed. It hurt to be forced to hide what made me feel so good, but it felt better to cut and even out the pain I had.

On my worst days, I took the same pair of scissors and cured my pain again and again, until one day I began to think of ways to take my life.

Ropes were my first thought, but where in the hell would I find a rope to hold me up? I was just a child. Plus, I didn't know how to make a noose, and I couldn't find anywhere in the house to actually complete the job. Looking back at it now... That would have been a terrible way for my family to find me. What note would I leave for them? What would I tell them? Thankfully, all of these feelings went away when the bullying stopped.

For a long time, I hated every single girl and guy that ever said or did hurtful things to me.

For a long time, I wished bad things would happen to them.

For a long time, I wanted them to feel the pain I felt.

For a long time, I didn't cut—and then a long time came to an end.

In high school, a lot of people probably thought that I lived the best life. I was one of

the captains on the varsity volleyball team. I was class president my junior year and

class treasure my senior year. I had a lot of friends and my family was amazing. I carried A's and B's all throughout high school, teachers loved me, and—even though I hate this word—I was "popular.” But, I lacked one thing: happiness.

There would be times in which I would feel so alone and like I had absolutely no one around when, in reality, I had really close friends and family that were there 24/7. I felt most alone at times when I was surrounded by people, and on days like that, behind closed doors, I reverted back to cutting.

This time it was with a razor blade. I threw the pink scissors away and the cuts were no longer on my wrist, but instead on my upper thigh. There, I could produce bigger and deeper cuts that would create more pain. Plus, my upper thigh was a lot easier to hide than my wrist. I did not cut as much when I was in high school, but when I did, I was temporarily curing my emotional and mental pain.

Suicide crossed my mind a lot more around this time, and I referred to them as “my thoughts.” This time, I thought of using pills to end my life. I would stare at 30+ pills sitting in the bottles wondering if I had to swallow the whole bottle or just a handful. I also wondered what kind of pills would take me out. Could I do over-the-counter ibuprofen or would I have to get something harder from the doctor? I even poured a bunch in my hand once, but I never got around to shoving them in my mouth like I would if they were a handful of Skittles. This time, I knew what message I was leaving my family; I thought about it time and time again.

Just so we’re clear on this, I am not proud of anything that I have told you thus far.

When I was diagnosed with depression in 2017, I lost my best friend and I found myself going back to old habits. Along with not getting out of bed for three months, drinking every night, and sleeping 15 hours a day, I also found myself cutting when I felt like I was in the most pain. This time, I upgraded to a knife. Four cuts at a time, four more before they could heal, four more the next day. Layers of parallel scars, welts, and bruising... I am genuinely sorry for painting that picture in your head, but I just can’t seem to get it out of mine—and, I promised that I would speak the truth and nothing but the truth. I have been bold and vulnerable for this whole time, so why stop now?

The cutting continued, though my suicidal thoughts ended when I lost my friend. We both had completely different problems, but we fought the same battle. We both were

fighting ourselves in an effort to not kill ourselves. When he passed away, I decided that I was not only living for myself but I was living for him, too. I will not lose this battle, and I can promise you that!

Before this blog ends, I want to explain something to all of my readers! First off, I am healthy now. I no longer cut; I haven't done so in nearly a year. Like I mentioned before, I no longer think of taking my own life. I would also like to add that I would ​never

ever ​recommend self-harm to anyone, no matter if they were struggling with depression or not. These terrible habits are not okay and there are plenty of coping mechanisms that are safe and more effective. If you are doing anything even ​remotely​ similar to what I have explained, please put those items down and get professional help.

To those that I warned in the beginning and still decided to read it anyways: I am sorry. However, I needed to get this off my chest.

To the boys and girls that bullied me in elementary school: you hurt me in so many ways possible, but I have overcome that. I am sorry that I wished bad things upon you and I completely regret hating all of you. You all put me through hell and you caused many years of pain and misery. You tricked me into thinking that it was okay to harm myself to feel better. Even though only one of you has apologized to me, I am going to forgive each and every single one of you. Why, you might ask? Because I am officially putting all of that behind me.

I am not making any more excuses for myself. I am who I am for what I have been through, so in a way... I guess I want to thank all of you.

Once again, thank you for listening.