In response to Eric5675's article about self-harm, I have decided to make an attempt to give my personal account of self harm and what it can do to you, and others around you.
Yes, I used to cut myself. On my wrists, under my shirt, and just anywhere I could cause harm. Needles, knives, scissors, anything sharp at all I could drive into myself. I am still not entirely sure what drove me to it. One of the main reasons I believe I started was the divorce of my parents, and the marriage of my mom to my step-dad barely a year after.
It shook me up pretty bad to have my life turned upside down like that, and I needed a release. I had no one to talk to at that time; any "friends" I had were purely superficial, and I have never been close to my mom or dad. I went through a difficult time in sixth grade, and in the middle of the year I started to cut myself. Suicide was a daily thought, and unfortunately it still is.
What originally stopped me from my self harm was my mom seeing the scars one day. My mom is a High School counselor. She screamed, and yelled, and even removed the door to my room. When she told my step-father, he came in, purely to try and help, I screamed at him to get out and I didn't want to hear it. When she told my father, well, I never wanted to see him that disappointed again. I resented my mother for making me go to a psychiatrist weekly and "talk about my feelings." I even yelled at the shrink a few times. My mom checked my wrists and legs often, so I could not "relieve" my stress. I didn't talk to anyone at school. I wanted to die more than ever.
Sixth grade finally ended, and something happened. I went to band camp. Now, don't laugh . . . there, I met a girl. At first, she angered me, throwing around the fact that she harmed herself like I used to as a joke. I wanted to scream at her too. But then I began to know her better. After band camp, we kept in touch. We are still very good friends. But, I had began cutting myself again. My mom had lightened up on the checking me. My new friend had stopped, and was trying to get me to do the same, because one night when I was staying over she saw some fresh scars. She sad she would be doing it too if I continued. Afraid to loose my first real friend, I stopped.
Of course, it was addiction. I started again, however less frequently. I didn't tell her. But by this time, I had met a boy. No, he was not and is not and never will be my boyfriend. He is the best friend anyone can have, though. He had gone through the same thing I had, and didn't judge me. He helped me more than anyone ever could. I still talk to him about everything. He truly got me to stop, and has succeeded up until now.
My humble advice to anyone and everyone who is going through this is to find someone that you trust, and talk to them about it. I realize that I am not qualified to say this, as many of you pointed out to Eric5675, but this is purely my advice.
I said I would tell you what it does to others around you. I have already told you I almost lost a friend because of it. It took a while to get my family to trust me again. Other people who knew avoided me, if not made more fun of me.
Now, in eighth grade, I am still struggling with thoughts of suicide. I generally resist the urge to pick up a knife and make a mark or two. But I will ever be haunted by the remaining scars of my past, and the that fear one day the addiction will return.
Author's Note: I sincerely apologize if I have offended anyone. I felt I needed to give my testimony. I am not assuming I am all-knowing on this subject, I simply wish to tell my story.