I don't remember when I first self injured. I know I was cutting by age 12 or 13. I don't remember what caused me to cut myself. I don't recall knowing anyone who cut. This was before the Internet, and I was in college the first time I read about cutting in a magazine. So, I haven't any clue when or why I started.
As a teenager, hurting myself made me feel kind of powerful. I stopped hurting myself after I graduated college until I began again eight years ago. As an adult, it was mostly about punishing myself. No matter the reason it always tended to make me feel better in some way.
The past several years I haven't hurt myself very often, and when I did it wasn't as severe as it had been from 2007 thru 2009. I've done some horrible things to my body in an attempt to relieve the pain of depression.
It doesn't help me much anymore. My injuries are not as severe. It's not as emotionally satisfying. It just doesn't help me. I find this kind of aggravating. My therapist worked patiently with me. He was my witness. He was the person who saw the physical manifestations of my emotional pain. Now, I talk. Or, I try to talk. And, he listens. Sometimes talking doesn't seem to be enough. Or, maybe I'm just not finding the right words. I hurt. I hurt. I hurt.
Sometimes I wish hurting myself still worked. Sometimes I wish I was still as impulsive as I was when I could cut deep, so I could cut deep again. Pain feels trapped inside me, and it's screaming like a banshee to be acknowledged. Please stop screaming.
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