I remember the first time I cut myself. I was sitting on my
bed sobbing. I don’t think it occurred to me until later that those kinds of
things don’t normally happen to high school girls. But I sat there as something
in me forced my hand back and forth as the sharp object drew lines across my
wrists. 5 years later and I still struggle with it, figuring out which objects
hurt and which don’t, which ones are good for scratches and which ones for
deeper cuts.
Until I did it myself, I always thought most kids cut solely
for attention. While this may be a part of it or all of it for some people, it
was only a small part of it for me. Not for selfish attention, but a physical
red flag that someone might notice and see that I was hurting inside.It’s why I did it in the first place: I needed to get out the pain I was feeling on the inside. It only made sense (in my unstable depressed mind) to make myself feel physically what I was feeling emotionally and occasionally spiritually. I hated myself. Much of my depression stemmed from frustration and sadness over my past and how I thought it affected me then. As the years passed by, cutting became more and more of a way to take out the disgust I felt for myself. I hated the ways I had hurt other people. I hated the things I had done to hurt myself.
I recently found out that cutting can be addictive (thanks to the endorphins that are released in your brain when you inflict that kind of pain on yourself). I guess that’s why I’m writing this blog post. Well, it’s to inform others of the kinds of crazy things us depressed people can do. But it’s also to do something else with my hands when I feel like hurting myself.
I know the truth- I know what I am, that I’m forgiven, that
I’m so much more than my mistakes, that I’m made perfectly. I don’t doubt it
either. But realize that when a depressed person is acting on their depression
in ways that can or do harm their self, they aren’t thinking logically.
Sometimes the best help someone can offer in times like that is to listen. Not
to say reasoning doesn’t help, but I can tell you from experience depressed
people don’t usually like to listen to or follow reason when they’re overcome
with unreasonable feelings.
So I’ll admit it. I love the way I feel when I take a knife
across my wrist. I love how I can feel the pain for days on end. In a dark way,
I love having to hide my arms from other people. But more than that, I love
feeling whole and complete- like I am who I am and that’s okay. I love feeling
content with myself and the place I’m at, despite what I’ve done.Someone once said that we’ll have scars when we’re in heaven so we could look on them and remember that at one point, we were human. Christ rose from the dead and, in his perfect state, had scars to prove to others that he did what he did. I wouldn’t mind getting to heaven and seeing the scars on my arms. When all is perfect and I get to spend eternity with my Beloved, I wouldn’t mind looking down and remembering all those times when I felt like all was lost- knowing the whole time God knew what he was doing.
