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It's not a competition.

When the topic of self-injury comes up online; in forums, comments, youtube videos, the common retaliation is along the lines of 'I or others have experienced a worse life, worse things have happened to other people, why do you think yours is so bad?'

Personally, I don't think any of us try to claim that.

Some may have had really terrible things in their past, some may have had an ideal childhood.

It's not a competition.

It's not bad experiences or a terrible childhood or a series of bad events that led to my self-injury.

At least nothing terribly serious - it would be a lie if I blamed my SI on a hostile and occasionally violent relationship with my parents.

It's the small things. It's life. It's invalidated anger. It's having every thought or feeling expressed being disregarded and not taken seriously. It's internalized self-loathing. It's eye contact with strangers, and the loathing or dismissivness I perceive in their tone of voice, mannerisms, and facial expression. My loathing that I project onto them.

It's me, and my mind.

It bothers me that people think we are trying to hurt ourselves as a statement of how sad we are, in my experience, it's not sadness. Sadness is when I am too listless and unmotivated to do anything, which includes self-injury.  Read more »

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It's not a competition. in Creativity - Article/Essay/Opinion published by Anonymous 5 months ago ()

A Willows Fear

This was just something I wrote upset with myself and others.. I can't remember when it was exactly. I used to write so much... I had a luggage full of notebooks a wrote in since 2008-2011. But I threw them away because I wanted nothing hanging over my head when I moved away.. Sometimes I miss them though..

The willows tears are stifled as she looks through their window.
Smiling and joyful faces, butterflies and dandelions.
Not a cloud in the room.
She bends and breaks down her bones, squeeze off her throat and continues into the halls of mannequins. They stare. It grows inside her..
She cant say no.
She holds the giggles and hugs of the unknown, playing tennis with the mouths and hands of the faceless. She begins to miss the bouncing ball… again and again.
Her spine wants to stretch and break through the skin; flee!
But she cannot let it!
She escapes momentarily to cut out the veins and tie down the beating scared soul.
Flesh is no match, it avoids the touch, fakes submission.
She believes she is safe, unbeknownst to her that it conspires against her.
Everyone conspires.
Longing for the freedom of a sparrows wings.
She desires to flaunt and wave, laugh, scream and smile.
To jump off this barbed fence with no fear.
But she breaks her knees in prayer and stumbles.
Her toes and feet are scarred from sharp wires; tip toe along the fence she goes.

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kenshincoco A Willows Fear in Creativity - Article/Essay/Opinion published by 8 months ago ()

I want to erase what I've become

I remember this day vividly. It was after Christmas, and you know, little kids are always wasting their money as fast as they can. I was at the pet store and I had gotten in a fight with my mom about my money-she said I could only buy one thing, but I was torn between two things. When I got home, I ran into my room and locked the door. (I didn't know cutting was an actual problem, I was had Si'd before this time, though.) I could hear my mom yelling at me and my autistic brother screaming in the background. I felt as if I coulden't control a thing I was doing. I looked for the sharpest thing in my room----sissors, opened then as wide as possible and made 15 gashes in my right wrist.

I was 10 at the time

If only I could go back and erase this.... Read more »

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autismtwin I want to erase what I've become in Creativity - Article/Essay/Opinion published by 1 year ago ()

No one is ever alone.

At first, you give yourself a cry. Then, you cry even more. After that you reach the point of eyeing the razor in the shower, telling yourself no, but then in the mist of chaos inside yourself you bend to.

We all reach this path through different strides, some of us have been walking past it for a while, some have been in a different neck of the woods for all their life. But overall, one joint thing is certain: our self worth is the same. We're not worth that. None of us. When I read those words or heard people tell me that I wouldn't trust them. My issue is just that: trust. My problem with it, my willingness to give it, my reluctance... it's all full circle. Ironically, the thing that helped me out was the gaining of trust. The oh so cliched and cheesy line must be used: it takes one. (you're looking at it and possibly questioning if I even used that right, googling it now. If not, you probably will after reading that bit)

In the mist of complete darkness and emptiness I wanted to reach deep; deep into myself and deep into my soul. I wasn't sure, I wanted to be numb. Feeling too much has always been a problem for me. I love the people around me too much before they leave. My breaking point was caused by the already present cracks in my family, and the pieces that'd fallen to the ground, never to be reached for again.

I hope you're still with me at this point. Read more »

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No one is ever alone. in Creativity - Article/Essay/Opinion published by 1 year ago ()

Lets die alittle

Its a dark cold room, the only light and heat is from my lighter. The smell of opium and burning flesh fills the air, so is the small whisper of a bubbling. My heart is isck and sad and weighted by my sins. Enough grief and pain to last me a thousand lifetimes, I caused all of it. With the hunger and the beast growing inside of me, I caused all of it, I taught my soul and heart to follow the path of my veins, blackened, rotted, necrotic. Dead. I dig into myself searching for one more vein, I'm no afraid of of death. I saw him take away my brothers on that distant battlefield, I don't fear God either, he fell there too. I've seen Death's face, I see it in the needle as I get ready to shoot a little bit of him into my veins. The black that shoot up my arm fills my eyes, making them go away and leave me alone. Their faces haunt me with their voices yelling and shouting "RUN RUN RUN!" Just before the surge I catch a glimpse of something as I jam down on the plunger  with its shadow coming closer and closer and its me! The bright lights blind me as I almost jump back up and fall over the rail puking the filth onto the floor. I still cant see but  I can feel two immense arms lift me back into the bed and i feel something soft, almost like silk rub my withered hand and she whispers into my ear ,"Welcome back to life..... You overdosed on heroine."

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Lets die alittle in Creativity - Article/Essay/Opinion published by 1 year ago ()

A Self-Injurer's Bill of Rights

I have the right to not feel guilty or ashamed when I hurt myself. I have the right to not allow anyone to make me feel ashamed or guilty. Setbacks are part of the process. Beating myself up about them isn't going to change that fact.

I have the right to be treated like a human first and a self-injurer second.

I have the right to never be called a freak. Ever.

I deserve the opportunity to tell my story, instead of people jumping to conclusions about why I hurt myself.

I deserve to be treated with dignity and respect. I am an addict, not a criminal. My addiction- like any other medical condition- should always be handled with sensitivity and respect.

I have the right to be heard out before you assume I am dangerous, violent, suicidal, mentally unstable, or otherwise crazy. Most cutters are none of the above, by the way.

I have the right to be defined by more than just my scars.

I have the right to feel validated.

I have the right to dress comfortably, regardless of my scars. If I do wear clothes that conceal them, it should be because I am more comfortable that way, not because I feel like others will judge me if I don’t cover them up.

I have the right to refuse to answer questions I do not want to answer.

I have the right to refuse to let others look at or touch my scars if I don’t want them to.

I have the right to talk about self-injury without fear of being judged, criticized, mocked, or betrayed. I also have the right to refuse to talk about it when I don't want to. Read more »

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StormPraiser1991 A Self-Injurer's Bill of Rights in Creativity - Article/Essay/Opinion published by 1 year ago ()

Lack of Serotonin

6 AM.

WhenI wake up, it’s always the same feeling. I roll over to my alarm clock that isplaying the Harry Potter theme song and want to loft it across the room. Myviolent behavior towards the device waking me up is not because I wish to be inbed longer. No, I’ve already been awake for quite some time. My need todemolish the alarm clock is from a serious mental state of depression. Thismorning is not unlike any other. I just layin my bedroom, which is a swirl of color, in the dark, wishing and wanting. Myattitude is always the same; dark, almost as if a thunderstorm haserupted. I always awake with the samefeeling.

7 AM.

Ifinally decide that maybe it’s time to get up and get ready for school. Maybe Ionly decide to get out of bed because I’m sick of my mother screaming at thetop of her lungs at everything. I can’t really decide what my reasoning is. Ijust need to get out. As I’m in the shower I hear the bathroom door open. Theworst thing about having a small house and a big family is one bathroom. I hearmy youngest brothers voice let me know he’s sharing the moment with me. Is itreally so hard to let someone have a small amount of peace? I guess I reallycouldn’t be too harsh on my brother. While I would have liked to shower in thebathroom alone, he does have a colon disease that doesn’t allow him to hold hisbowels as long as he would like.

8 AM. Read more »

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alixxander Lack of Serotonin in Creativity - Article/Essay/Opinion published by 1 year ago ()

for the love of Music

First off let me point you to a favorite song of mine: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xVsmv3lIwHw By a band called serial joe. 

The song is called mistake. I was so stricken by this song I made this user name when I was 18. I'm 28 now. Perhaps it's not

a profound effect but it does show that it had an effect on my life. 

 

I could sit down and write blog after blog about my life. The pain, the abuse, and the problems that have shaped my life.

Trust me that is a real long story. I could write a series of books on it. but then again I'm sur that anyone that would actually

give me time and read this could do the same. Your stories could be just as horrorific or mildly so but who's to scale

another persons pain with a rating? I'm glad to show you my resilence to be here at the age of 28 and I'm glad to know your

resilence has allowed you to last this long.I will tell you Is tarted to SI at 6(possibly before) and I started to cut at about age 9. Read more »

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serialjoepsycho for the love of Music in Creativity - Article/Essay/Opinion published by 1 year ago ()

The Heat Kills

    So, we're having a little bit of a heat wave in my town, and it is literally KILLING me. I have a lurking suspicion that I suffer fro untreated depression, and the 100 degree weather isn't helping! As my French teacher puts it, by the end of the day, I was wilting. Hell yeah I was wilting! This kid that likes and asked me out (I rejected him, but nicely) kept on harassing me, and I couldn't take control of it. When I can't take control of a situation, I fall into a deep depression, because that is one of the times when I usually cut, and I haven't cut for three weeks and four days, so I'm not gonna ruin it now. And this was probably the first time I actually showed my depression voluntarily, because my therapist says its bad to bottle up emotions or something like that. Let me tell you, it completely sucked. My friend Laura said I was being a bitch, when I didn't do or say anything ALL PERIOD. Her exact words were, "Ally, I know your in a bad mood, but you don't have to be a total bitch about it." Trust me, she is wayyyyy more of a bitch on a regular basis than I am in a bad mood. Read more »

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h2okrazy97 The Heat Kills in Creativity - Article/Essay/Opinion published by 1 year ago ()

Unobservant People

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Unobservant People in Creativity - Article/Essay/Opinion published by Anonymous 1 year ago ()