I wish I knew why I did it. Is it for the pain? Do I deserve it? Is it to stop the feelings? The anxiety? The anger? The sadness? Or is it to feel something? To stop the greyness from seeping in and drowning me? Or am I just addicted? Do I crave the rush I feel before the shame comes back? Sometimes I think it’s all these things, other times I feel like there is no reason that I’m just trying to make myself different, to give myself a more interesting story. That’s what I’m most afraid of, not the scars, the cravings or the pain but the pathetic need to be something more. To be alive when I’m already living.
“I hear so many stories about how we need to suffer. We need to feel pain to live, to grow, to become stronger. But everytime I need pain, everytime I break my promise I feel like I’m dying, I see the blood I feel like I’ve gone back to the start and when the sting eventually comes I’ve never felt so weak, not because I cut myself but because I didn’t have the strength not to.”
My name is Gabrielle and I am twenty-eight years old. I began to self-injure at age fifteen -- so nearly thirteen years minus a two year period. This website is one about self-injury (self-harm), made to let self-injurers know that they are not alone and to help their friends and family learn more about self-injury and how it affects their loved one.
Add a comment?