I sit here, thinking of my recent past. Its not a very pretty, or good past but it had a few high points. Mostly bad and people don’t understand why. Nobody but me knows completely why I am at the point where I am today but me. I am the only person that fully understands what I went through to even come from where I was to where I am.

People look at me today a lot differently then they used to. The only people who look at me the same are the people who know me for who I am and accept that. Those are the people I can trust the most. However I have made myself over the year strong so that the people who look at me differently, make fun of me, insult me to my face, and talk me down, don’t have an effect on me.

I don’t completely understand why I did it at all. I probably never will. But I do know that for the most part it dealt with….a recent family suicide, a deployment, realization by accusation, being hard on myself, and mostly not letting go of things.

I know that when things happened..ex: getting yelled at by a coach, a bad grade on something, getting yelled at for pointless things at home, etc. These things made me feel like a failure at life, like I didn’t belong, like nothing I ever tried to do matter. I always kept these things inside of me. And when it got to be to much I turned to self pain, I found comfort in a sting, a stream of blood, even the scars that I knew I would receive. I knew it was wrong, I knew that the feeling of release would only last shortly because once the feeling of a fresh wound went away everything would come back to me, I knew that it would take a long time to try to even start a recovery from cutting, I even knew what the risks were.

I realize that with all the times that I have either cut myself, scratched myself, dug into my arm with a pencil, dug into my arm till it bleeds, go into the bathroom and scratch my arm on the edges of the toilet paper holder or scratch myself on the locker door, I hurt not only myself but a lot of other people. Also in the day after me and Anthony broke up, that night I went and I tried to drown myself, because I couldn’t take the fact of how people were judging me because of my own problems. But this wall hit me and my brain said “No, I will not allow you to do this, you have to many people that care about you and would be hurt if you were gone out of their lives.” Then I resisted the urge to do that and I went and cut which in my opinion is not the best thing that I could have done, but its not the worst.

If there is one thing that I remember the most is the fact that when I would go into the phases that I could not get myself out of unless I did something to myself, I would lose control of my mind, I would not be able to think. The only thing that would go through my mind then was, the feeling of release, getting things out of me that I held inside of me. I had lost control.

There was even a time, when I had started on the long road to recovery, that the urge became to much to handle. I had a voice that went through my mind telling me that I couldn’t do it to myself. I couldn’t break my recovery period. So instead I went and wrote a poem about it. The next day also became to much to handle because I would not let it go. I went to the nurse and talked to her, she’s one of my major trusts and I told her that I had planned that morning to overdose on pills, but I didn’t because I knew I couldn’t do that to myself. I was then that night sent to the hospital. And to be honest I learned about myself there. It gave me a place and time to think. It turned my mind around about cutting and set me back on my track.

However a couple months later, things were happening yet again that drove me to doing stuff. I knew that I couldn’t go back to cutting, I would loose to many people, I would hurt myself to know that I went back to cutting. So instead I made myself suffer from hunger. In five days I only ate three times. When I looked at food I felt sick, even when I ate I felt like it didn’t belong. During these five days I lost over ten pounds and all ten of those pounds were muscle. This was mainly due to me not eating properly and having softball every night. To be completely honest I don’t even know why I did that.

To this day I do still have these mental breakdowns where I do almost lose myself to the urge to cut, the urge to feel the warmth of blood. I have grown to love the sight of blood. I love the way the warmth feels against my skin, the way that it pulses out of a wound, the sting that you feel when you bleed or when you get something inside your cut and have to put alcohol on it. I just simply love it.

When I look at the scars on my wrist, I think why. Why did I ever do such a thing? What ever was so bad in my life that made things happen the way that they did? What could I have done differently? But I also think of things that are positive. Like how I have been in the situation and what I went through, the emotional pain that I felt. And I think of the people that I can help get out of the same situation that I was in. I think of how I can change the lives of others.

Things are different now and for the most part they are surprisingly better than before everything started. However I still have yet to forgive myself for what I have done. I don’t know when I will, I don’t even know if its possible.