It was late one night. My parents were acting strange. I didn't know why. Generally, I leave them alone. I have a very "open door" policy. If something is bothering you, if something is wrong, if you need something, doesn't matter - come talk to me. Tell me.
I really had no idea what could have displeased them. Actually, things had been getting better for me. I had gone months without cutting, and I no longer even felt the urge. I started blogging online about my experience, and was actually connecting with other people who were struggling with SI and creating friendships - I was making some sort of difference. My experience wasn't for "nothing."
My parents found my blog. True, I hadn't told them about it. Because I knew they couldn't handle the truth of what had happened to me. They saw it as something dark, evil, horrid - something that should be kept secret.
They couldn't understand "why I wanted to tell complete strangers" about what happened to me. Why would I want to share something awful like that? Why would I want others to know? It wasn't right. It could get me in trouble. People could think the wrong thing, try to hurt me with it. I shouldn't let anyone know.
But I WANTED to tell others! I wanted to let the world know that I WAS FREE! That I'd fought this frikkin fight and I WAS STILL ALIVE. That I had been saved from myself. I wanted to share my victory with the world, to let others know that there is hope - that you're not alone. Read more »