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Part
III
I've
gotten so many letters from teens and adults who self-injure that I
added a third page of quotes
from their letters, with permission of course. Hopefully this might
help people who are in emotional pain share their feelings with others
and realize that there is help for this condition AND that you are not
the only person who is "cutting". Thanks again to everyone
who sent me their letters. ~ Amy, President, Cool Nurse ~
WARNING:
Some of this content may be disturbing to read or my trigger memories
in those who have been abused or those who self-injure.
My parents divorced
when I was 3 ... from then on my life was a living hell . I was sexually
abused by my brothers friend more then once ... I never told anyone
.. I didn't know what he was doing was wrong ... or I did .. and I blocked
it out of my head . Then on day when I was 11 I was talking to my cousin
who was then 13 . She was talking about her real father and how he use
to sexually abuse her .. I'd never asked for details or about things
she remembered but that night I did ... and all at once these memories
just came back to me . Memories about my brothers friend (he sexually
abused me ... made me feel bad enough to give him permission {I was
6 or 7} ... and then laughed when I would tell him to stop) , my dad
(he's a heavy drinker{enough said}) , my brothers(they were physically
violent) , and my dads' friends(they were very touchy but never like
my brothers friend , they never did everything he did) . I was shocked
at what I remembered ... I was never the same after that night . I started
cutting when I was 12 ... it felt so great to see blood roll down my
arms ... just like it feels great to look into the mirror and watch
tears slide down my face .... it makes me remember I'm alive . Which
sometimes I tend to forget . I started having sex when I was 12 .. I
started smoking .. and drinking when I was 12 . I even started smoking
weed when I was 12 ... yep everything started when I was in the 7th
grade . . . I'm in therapy ... and I've been put on 2 antidepressants
... I quit taking both .... I can't drink with them .. it made me sick
.... Its kind of sad , well actually really sad , to think that someone
had pleasure over taking away my innocence ... someone out there that
probably doesn't even remember doing this to me and has probably done
this to other girls and maybe even little boys haunts me to this day
. Its sad to think that I'm not strong enough to deal with my past so
I make myself feel better by having sex or doing drugs . I wish I could
tell you this story has a happy ending .. that I'm not having sex ...
not doing drugs ... in depression recovery therapy .. but the end to
this story is that I'm in therapy ... off any meds I was ever put on
... still depressed ... still cutting ... still having sex .. and still
denying my past . In 3 and 1/2 months I'm going to have a baby ... and
I'm going to get to look into my child's eyes and I'm not going to be
able to promise my baby that she will have a good life , a promising
future , or a family that will support her . I'm going to have to look
into that baby's eyes and say that I have problems ... and that I can't
promise that I will be able to protect her from the world .. and that
the reality about her mother is that I'm clueless as to what life is
all about ... and that I can hardly take care of myself and now I'm
taking on the responsibility of a baby ... of my baby ... I'm going
to have to look in her eyes and tell her that all I can promise her
about her future is that I will always love her . I wish I could tell
her that I have a college fund for her or that her father will also
always be there for her or even that I'll always know exactly what to
do and what to say to her ... but I don't . Meghan,
Age 13, USA <3 TO THE
BABY INSIDE ME , SKYLAR JADE , I LOVE ! YOU <3
I'm eighteen and
I'm going away to college in three weeks, and I never thought I would
be able to, I thought I'd be dead by now. My first memory in life involves
blood. I was three and my mom smacked me and I got a bloody nose. I
remember it all with a clarity that is somewhat disturbing- the thickness
of the blood, it's warmth, how it made my mouth sticky. The first memory
of myself causing the injury, though, was when I was eight. I thought
I was a very bad girl for some reason and I would kneel on sharp objects
and pray the rosary quite often. I quit doing that for awhile. Then,
when I was twelve I started stabbing myself with needles. I just wanted
to see how much pain I could take, and my skin kind of fascinated me.
That same year I developed an eating disorder. I bounced back and forth
between anorexia and bulimia, but never cut myself again until my sophomore
year of high school, when I was fifteen. I was very upset, and it scared
me, how angry I was. I wanted to come down but I couldn't, and I cut
my leg with a knife to try to bring myself back to reality. It worked
really well, oddly enough. From then on, I began cutting more and more
frequently, using scissors, razors, knives, and even biting myself,
anything to draw blood and bring me back down out of that scary numbness.
When I was seventeen, I cut my arm with scissors and immediately knew
I'd gone too far. The wound was huge and gaping and I'd obviously hit
a blood vessel. It was winter, and I left my two little sisters at home
alone and drove in the ice to the emergency room by myself. I made a
mess of blood all over the place, and by the time I got there I'd lost
so much I felt strange. They gave me stitches and a big bandage/sling
thing and the next day admitted me to a mental hospital. I was actually
relieved to be in there, because there was no way I could hurt myself.
I didn't cut the whole week I was there, but when I got out I started
again. I got into therapy, though, and things got a lot better. I'm
not nearly as depressed or scared as I was then. I'm still in therapy
but only once every two weeks. I also take an antidepressant and a stimulant
(I found out I have ADHD). I haven't cut in about two months, which
is very good for me. I no longer have an eating disorder either. I still
have scars, though, and I always will. I get nervous about meeting people
because I get lots of stares at my arms and legs (I also am scarred
on my stomach), and people can be really insensitive. But I know that
no one would deliberately be rude like that, they just don't understand.
So that's why I wrote this letter. If you see scars on someone, please
understand that that person is doing the best they can, and they probably
feel very alone and scared. And while you may be curious, they probably
won't feel like answering any questions, at least not right off the
bat. Understand that there is a lot more to that person than self-injury,
but also keep in mind that it is (or, hopefully, was) a part of their
life, and try to be sensitive to that. And on their account, thank you.
Anonymous, Age 18
More
soon, thank you to all who have shared with us.
To Page 4
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