I’ve done a general post on Self Injury, but I’ve never shared the personal details about my battle with anyone except my closest friends. Some of the things that I’m about to say are things that they haven’t even heard. So, here we go.

My name is Michael, and I was 12 years old when I started cutting. I can’t really explain why I did it, it was more of an escape from feeling the emotional pain that I felt. I felt like seeing the cuts on my arm, knowing that I was physically hurting myself, I knew that I couldn’t get any worse. It was almost something where I said ‘I might as well make myself the worst I can possibly be, that way I can’t get any worse’ (if that makes sense). The extreme release I felt from this was my only escape from day-to-day life. I started cutting to feel some sense of control over the pain that I felt every day. In the end, it just ended up controlling me.

I remember in 6th grade, I was talking to a close friend of mine (at the time). Let’s call her Jane (No, that’s not her real name, but it’s not important). She and I were close enough to share anything that was bugging us. One day, she mentioned that she was cutting. At the time, I didn’t understand it really. I asked her why she did it, and she told me that she didn’t even know anymore. Then as she went on, she urged me never to try it. She told me that I had to promise to never try cutting. I promised her. Little did I know, I was about to step off of a cliff and never be the same. 

In 7th grade, my depression got much, much worse. I started to have trouble getting up in the morning, trouble eating, and trouble focusing on the things that I once loved. Then, I did something that started my battle. I broke my promise to ‘Jane’ and I used some scissors to barely break the skin on my arm. The pain didn’t really even register. The endorphins started rushing and I felt empowered, in control. At least for a few minutes. Then, it all crashed. I wanted that feeling again so badly, but I was too upset to do anything that night. The next day, I went to school and put on my mask of happiness. All I was thinking is how wrong what I did was. I told myself I would never do it again. I stuck to that, and then when I got sad the next time, the first thing I did was go to my scissors and make another small cut. This continued for the week, and then it became a daily routine. I would literally cut to stop the urge and the pain, and then when I crashed again I wouldn’t be able to think about anything except my next cuts. Where were they going to be, what would I use? These are just some of the questions that raced through my mind. It got so bad one day in English class, that I broke a tic-tac box and used the sharp plastic shards to carve lines into my left arm. I remember talking to a friend of mine, Isabella, and I told her about my cutting. I remember she told me “I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but I’m always here to talk if you need me. I know you’re strong enough to beat this”. What she didn’t know at the time was that I was planning on killing myself that night. Her kind words very well may have saved my life. That’s just a testament to the power of kind words. 

Keep in mind, my parents still had no idea that I was intentionally cutting my left arm to escape the pain I felt in the world around me. Cutting had taken over my life, yet I was somehow able to hide it from the people all around me. Then, I made my first suicide attempt of that year. As I was going through the intake process at the hospital, they asked the question that I knew was coming eventually. With my mother sitting in the chair next to me, the nurse asked “Do you self injure?”. My heart sank. I knew they would find the cuts on my body if I didn’t tell them, so I opened my mouth to say yes. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I finally just shook my head and looked at the floor. Then I felt my Mom grab my hand… She didn’t know what to say and she felt like it was her fault. I have never felt so bad for anybody in my life. Mom, I know you’re not reading this, but I’m sorry for putting you through that. The look on your face was one that I had never seen before, and pray never to have to see again. 

That was a major turning point for me. It made me realize that my actions affected the people around me so much. I never wanted to see my mom in that much pain again. But, my addiction pulled back on me again. I relapsed after a few days. I went on to cut every night before I went to bed. This went on until mid freshman year. That’s 3 years, 1095 days. I would cut over my old cuts to keep it from being obvious. I cut my arm every day for 1095 days straight, never missing a single day. Until February 7, 2011. That was the day that I last took a sharp to my arm, and I have been cut free since. It took me being put in a therapeutic boarding school for me to understand how much my parents and family cared for me. I saw a purpose in life and was happy being who I am. Music and friends carried me through this. If it weren’t for my friends and family, I would have been dead years ago. I wake up every day, thankful that I have one more to live.

That’s the story of my battle with self injury.

-Michael

To the countless friends and family who helped me through those hellish years, thank you. Mom, Dad, Maddie, and the friends who helped me whenever I just needed someone, thank you so, so much. This post, this blog, it’s all dedicated to you.