There are so many cases regarding people finding out about cutters. For whatever reason they will see that cut but, I really want to know is it possible that maybe we want people to find out? Somewhere along the cutting spree do we mess up on purpose? Is this our way of asking for help?
I must ask myself did I want to keep my secret forever? Does any of us want to keep that secret or do we secretly wish for someone to see that cut, that one cut that will let us know that help is on the way.
Did I want people to find out about my cutting? Is it possible that I did mess up on purpose and that I wore cuts on certain places to have someone figure out my secret? Was that day that I put myself in the hospital an accident or a semi sub-conscious way of seeking help? Did I secretly want to stop cutting? If yes why after all is revealed was I still cutting myself?
Somewhere along the line I feel that maybe we do mess up on purpose and that we are forced to do something drastic in order to seek help. We are forced to go to the extreme simply because no one noticed how fucked up we are.
Depression. It’s a very familiar word for me. It is what has taken my life away, it has consumed about 75% of my life and 95% of my soul. Depression is returning and I am falling way too fast into the darkness and for once I think I know what’s pushed me into the dark wave. The thought of going back to the way things were, that feeling of alone.
I can’t and won’t feel that way again. I can no longer do it. I was stronger before. Day after day of being alone in my apartment, eating at the dinner table alone and spending many nights curled up crying on the bathroom floor cannot be apart of my post therapy days. I can’t handle that yet I can’t stop it. I can’t stop the panic attacks and I can’t stop myself from spiraling into this depression, I can’t possibly fall any deeper than where I am now.
Just when I thought I had this whole cutting situation under control depression comes back to bite me in the ass. He doesn’t come alone, he brings the heart and soul of my pain… Self-mutilation. I sit here writing and wear 9 new cuts on my arm left arm. Though only 3 are deep and may leave a constant reminder. All 9 will forever be burned into my memory.
The strangest thing about all this is that the biggest secret in my life was this. These cuts, these scars, this pain and this fear. But, this time it’s different. It’s not this huge secret anymore. People know and though this frightens me so it’s for the best. Simply because these people care and they are very dear to me.
I need more than anything to beat this sickness. This reoccurring depression that haunts me has followed me for years. The problem is it becomes a part of you and in some strange way I fear losing the writer in me. For I believe the two are intertwined, the writer and the self-mutilator are one.
To have so many people care for me scares me. I never felt that before and I never want to go back to that alone feeling again. So disappointing these people is not an option. These dear people I want to keep very close to my heart.