Entry 9: Cutting

The emotional pain would be completely out of control when I would think of cutting myself. I know I’ve explained this before, but cutting releases endorphins, which makes you feel good. It is a physical representation of the emotional pain. When I cut it would take everything I was thinking about and throw it all away; all I could focus on is the pain, the blood, the risk associated with getting caught.

At first, I would only cut one time because I was scared that someone would know, see, make me stop. I mostly did it on my left arm, inside and out along with my left shoulder. But I did get adventurous and would sometimes cut my right arm; which was always kind of scary because my left hand isn’t the best at doing things.

After only doing one at a time though, it wasn’t making me feel good anymore so I started doing more than one, more than two, more than three, more than four, more than 5, etc.… The higher I went in the quantity of cuts I made resulted in exhilarating feelings! I felt like I was walking on clouds, like nothing anyone said could hurt me. I had up a brick wall around me!

“You might imagine that a person would resort to self-harm only under extremes of duress, but once I’d crossed that line the first time, taken that fateful step off the precipice, then almost any reason was a good enough reason, almost any provocation was provocation enough, cutting was my all-purpose solution.” (Caroline Kettlewell)

Minutes later though, after I would clean up I would want to do it again; but when you’re in the bathroom for over an hour people get suspicious. When my parents would ask me what I was doing, I would panic and get very defensive because who were they to tell me to stop doing the one thing that helped me live!

It was easy to hide the cuts in the winter. But in the spring, summer and fall if I was cutting on my arms it was impossible to hide. I was always running, or playing soccer or lifting weights or taking the dogs on walks! I would take kids to practices and go play with them if they asked; basically I was ALWAYS in a t-shirt and shorts.

I’ve played goalie in soccer since I was in like fifth or sixth grade and so being on a select traveling team every year we practiced all the time. As a goalie, I would get beat up from all the jumping, diving, sliding, catching, blocking; basically using my body as a shield against the people shooting the balls at me. I would legit do anything to save the ball from going in. (I thought I was pretty good too!) Well, back in our goal at the fields we practiced at, it was always extremely dry and the grass was gone due to the constant use of the ground around there. So one time, at practice this teammate of mine asked what was on my arms—I didn’t do very well at covering them at this particular practice; it was too hot for my goalie shirt. She said, “Jules, what is all over your arms?” This other girl stepped in, she was like my best friend at the time and she looked at me and I knew when she looked into my eyes she was telling me to let her answer the question and so she says, “There are a lot of sticks back there. I’ve been helping her warm up and taking shots on her and the ground is so hard and dry and there is an unusual amount of sticks.” The other girl was just like, “Oh okay!”

Then my best friend texted me after practice and just said, “I know what those are from. You don’t have to lie to me. I have them too.”

Anyways, whenever I would wear short sleeves with visible cuts, I would get the most peculiar stares. People would look at me with disgust, or they would start a conversation with my just to stare at my arms and try to figure out what was going on. They would stare, and double take, and ask intimate and very personal questions. Teachers, friends, family, acquaintances would all act so weird around me; always offering support, or telling me what a mistake it is and how destructive it was to my body.. as if I didn’t already know.

The stares would continue to get worse as the cuts started to get longer and deeper, but then my blades whispered that I should start doing it in places people couldn’t see. So I started on my calves, hips, stomach, thighs; basically anywhere that clothing could hide. I felt amazing again. And now people wouldn’t be giving me the stares!

After the hospital and treatment most of my cuts were healed. I was clean for about 9 months I think, and then something traumatic happened on New Year’s Eve/ New Years Day and on January 2 I remember just breaking down and telling everyone I’m going to take a nice long bath and not to bother me. Well, after going that long with out a cut I was craving it so badly; like so so badly. I needed the risk again, the exhilaration, the anticipation and the joy I got from it!

So I took apart my razor, which was NOT easy. I’ve had bad experiences with taking apart my razors because they would always act up and slice open a finger or something, but this time it just came apart, so I took it as a sign. Then instead of cutting I thought of doing something even more exhilarating; I was going to cut a word into my arm.

These days everyone expected me to be perfect; the perfect sister, student, athlete, daughter, friend, worker, mentor, leader, inspiration. The pressure was too much, it was too great; the expectations that everyone had of me were not what I wanted, or who I was. Their expectations were suffocating me and I needed to show myself that I could say, “Fuck all of these people who want me to be perfect for them. I’m going to be perfect for myself and I’ll remind myself of it every day.”

So I carved the word, “Perfect” into my left inside forearm. It was perfect, I was perfect. Perfect perfect perfect perfect perfect. What does that even mean perfect perfect perfect

That was the last time I cut, I went out with a bang. BUT with my recent suicide attempt I was planning on slitting my wrists but my time was cut short I didn’t have enough time to do that! So I panic and just kind of scratched my arm, which in the hospital I picked at and yeah.

Lesson: This is going to sound strange and probably hard to comprehend for anyone who has never treated themselves this way. Cutting was a part of my life for such a long time. My blades were there for me 24/7, I could always turn to them when someone left me, because people always leave. My blades NEVER left, they never told me I was a mistake or I was worthless or any of that. All they did for me was get me through a part of my life that was unbearable. In a way, cutting was a huge coping skill for me! Well not even in a way, I can say 100%, without a doubt that cutting myself saved myself. Without doing that and without coping with everything through cutting I would not be here today. It helped me to cope with the incredibly depressing life around me. It gave me happiness when I had none.

I am NOT condoning the action of cutting yourself. IT WAS ALSO ONE OF THE WORST DECISIONS OF MY LIFE. Once you make that first cut, there is no turning back; it’s a deep, dark, down spiral until you’ve either killed yourself or ended up in the hospital because you almost killed yourself. The most important thing I learned in treatment was that THERE IS NO POSSIBLE WAY TO LIVE A SUCCESSFUL LIFE WHILE YOU ARE CUTTING YOURSELF.

You have to make that choice. The choice to stop. It may be helping you at this moment, but in the future when you stop and when you are clean for two years like I am, you will look back and think what the hell was I thinking?

Please remember not to judge a loved one that is cutting themselves. Honestly, make sure they are using sterile blades, bandaging their wounds sufficiently because if someone wants to cut, they will find anything sharp and they will cut; even use their fingernails. Offer support, not judgment. Don’t discipline them, get them help; because there is obviously something going on if someone is in enough emotional distress to make that first cut.

Don’t make that first cut. I promise you, you’ll regret it.