It's my 3rd time now that I've cut myself intentionally. I sliced my wrist at school and a teacher saw it. I did it to try to cope with my feelings of self hatred. I then had to see my school counselor after he saw me do it. It was kinda a bittersweet meeting. I cried a little after I got back to class but noone saw as I didn't weep and only shed 2 tears. I still can't believe I relapsed. I feel guility.
So I've been clean for almost three months now.
Today my mom and I got into a huge argument. She mentioned something along the lines of, "you're gonna be pissed off so you're gonna go cut yourself huh?" It really upset me for some reason. The way she said it was so cold, like it was an insult. I thought she really cared though. Then she said something similar to, "you're gonna cut your arm." When I went back into my room, I couldn't help but cry. When she brought the topic of self harming up, it was the first time I even thought about it in months. It was a sick reminder. I don't know, I'm not really looking for advice or anything. I just wanted to get that off my chest.
First of all, happy new year everyone!
Okay, so I said I was going to do 'No cut December'. And I made it!
I realized I'm much more happier without self harm. I even stopped counting the days unconsciously, self harm wasn't a daily thought anymore. Whenever I felt down, hurting myself didn't even cross my mind.
So in 2018 I will continue my road to recovery. Thank you all for supporting me on this forum.
I'm almost 30 and I'm severely depressed. I take medication, but that's not always enough. I began hurting myself in June of this year. I don't have many scars, but the ones I have are noticeable. This summer was one of the most stressful of my life. I'm embarrassed, being as old as I am, that I couldn't control my emotions. I don't think particularly highly of myself. I still live with my mom because I'm a walking shit-show.
I told my mom I self harm. I cut, scratch and burn myself. I've had two therapists and both know that I do these things to myself. My current therapist thought it would be good to tell my mom...or eventually tell her. I also think about suicide a lot (at least once a day). Mom knows this and so does my therapist.
I felt good about myself today, so I told Mom. I felt brave and I it seemed like a good idea at the time. I was disappointed with her reaction. She said it was a cliche thing to do...that she didn't think I was so mainstream. She said she thought my brand of "crazy" was more unique. To be honest, I don't think she believes I have a mental illness. She thinks I'm just a creative type. I am...but I'm also unwell. I don't like to whine and I don't want to have to explain myself. She's depressed too, so I don't know how she doesn't understand. She wants there to be a reason behind my moods. Sometimes there isn't. Sometimes I'm just overwhelmed.
I've stopped hurting myself. It's been three weeks since my last incident. I feel pretty in control of my urges, which is why I confessed. I knew Mom would think I was stupid for self-harming. She's known other people who did it so I've already heard what she really thinks about people who do it...that it's a way to get attention, it's a sign of weakness, it's unoriginal, it's stupid...
Mom said she was disappointed in me, then she said she was scared because she'd missed the signals. She didn't miss them...I'm just very good at hiding things. She kind of made the conversation about her. I found myself apologizing to her and telling her it wasn't her fault. She said our relationship was based on trust and now she isn't sure she should give me my privacy. She made it sound like I took advantage of her trust. She said this was a betrayal. She thinks this means I'm much closer to suicide. I'm not...I just needed to feel something and I needed an emotional release.
She said she'd respected my privacy and refrained from "delving" into my psyche. Then she said if she had delved, she'd have found this out sooner. I think she regrets trusting me. She has a tendency to leave me alone when I need help and invade when I need to be alone. Most of the time I just want someone to sit quietly with me. That helps more than anything. I've got a therapist...now I need a friend.
Mom said my scars would never go away and asked if I'd considered what it would be like to explain these things to a significant other.
I don't date. I haven't had a romantic relationship in almost a decade. I haven't found anyone I like. I'm picky and high maintenance. I fully admit that. I also don't give a damn what people think about my scars. I know what I did to my body. I don't need to be shamed for it. I'm proud I could handle the pain. The scars remind me that I hit some very low points and survived. They remind me I'm real.
Mom said we shouldn't tell my brother. He'd panic. I don't want to tell my brother either. I'm used to hiding the worst of my problems from him. Mom is usually in favor of telling him everything. I think she doesn't want him to worry and she doesn't want him to blame her. She kind of made the situation about her and how she'd failed. I don't mean to sound selfish, but it wasn't the conversation I hoped to have. I tried to explain that I needed a little more support.
I spoke quietly. I was embarrassed. She told me to stop talking so softly. She didn't want me to act or pretend. I admit I'm mellow dramatic, but I wasn't being dramatic this time. I just felt small. I don't know how to explain it. I'm depersonalized so it was easy to "zone out" after that.
In the end she said she was proud of me for telling her. She took back a few of the harsher comments. She went to bed early and said she needed to think. She shut down a bit. I asked if we were ok, if our relationship was ok and she said yes. I have no idea if she meant that.
I regret telling her. I promised I'd be honest from here on out, but that's just another lie. I'm done hurting myself. If I hadn't told her, she'd never know and I'd never have to hear the things she said. I love her very much and I don't mean to be ungrateful, but she's not as supportive as she thinks she is. She puts up with a lot from me and I'm tired of making her feel bad. I've got to stop telling her things. I keep thinking I should be honest, but it always backfires and I end up feeling worse. I can't keep my mouth shut. I always think it's better for our relationship to be honest, but it isn't.
My scars were mine. Now they're not. I hate that so much. I'm so embarrassed. I need a support system and I hate that I need anything.
I wish I had someone in my life I could be honest with. I can't tell my brother these things without breaking his heart. I can't tell my mom without her blaming herself. Telling my therapist is nice, but it's not quite enough. It's not terribly personal. I feel so alone and so stupid and somehow still feel completely blank and empty. I shouldn't have told her. I should have kept my big mouth shut. It was a secret and it was mine. I gave it away for nothing. I don't even know what I wanted or expected. I'm an idiot.
I'm ultimately happier alone. I don't know why I long for someone to understand. I'm not terribly gregarious and I don't like talking to other people. I certainly don't want to burden anyone with my problems. Logically, I know I should be able to handle this on my own without someone holding my hand like I'm a child. I'm not helpless. I'm not needy. I don't know what's wrong with me.
Sorry for rambling. Thanks for reading.
I have been self harming since I was 11.
I'm 21 with a job in healthcare and I still can't stop myself from cutting. Its become a custome. That's my go to when I'm stressed, upset, lonely, sometimes even if I'm bored. I just like to have cuts or burns or scratches on me at all times. Its like a secret that I don't have to share its amusing to me in a way. I feel almost naked if I don't have at least a few cuts on me at any given time. I've tried to stop and for a while I did, but I just keep turning back.
I want to move forward with my life but its like I'm stuck In a hole that I can't climb out of. I see everyone around me moving on with their lives and I'm stuck here hurting myself with no control over anything. My anxiety is to bad to seek help. I just feel like I would be better off dead because dying just seems so easier, more realistic and more inviting than trying to live a normal life.