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Personal/Recovery Stories

My Struggle.

I am a sixteen year old girl in a world filled to the brim with hatred. I have had my share of problems over the course of my life and I try my best not to dwell on them. I do find myself lost in the darkest places of my mind often. I just suffocate in my own depair too much. I have been bullied my entire life over stupid thing. I don't have parents and the reason is too private. They're just awful people. I have witnessed things no child deserves to ever see. I resorted to cutting in ninth grade. I am ow a junior and I never know where to stop. I'm too lost in my own agony to realize to realize that I don't deserve what I am doing to myself. No one deserved this kind of pain. Self hatred is the worst form of hatred in my opinion. It tears you open and darins your sanity like nothing else can. It takes away all self confidense and morphs it into agonizingly horrid images of you. I wish I could love myself like I love my boyfriend. I don't ever see that happening though. Don't let yourself get swallowed by your own problems to the point that they start to control your life. It's the worst kind of fear. Fearing yuorself. I never know what I am going to do to myself next. I hope I can muster the strength to end all of this before I hurt someone I love deeply. That's all I want. Freedon from myself.

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Creativity - Personal Story/Recovery Story published by 1 week ago ()

Choke

Why? I've been asking myself this question so many times already. The worst thing about harming myself is that I don't know why I do it. I wish I could stop; I feel so ridiculous for doing it. I have no reason to, I mean there are few things I can actually complain about. Still I am unhappy. Not constantly, no. It comes in waves, at a perfectly ordinary day I will be hit by a wave of hopelessness and desperation and I cry and cry.
Sometimes I start cutting myself, and then I stop crying and I get numb. The action of cutting myself seems to activate the reason inside me. It becomes some sort of clinical and non-emotional act.
Sometimes I feel ashamed of myself or I let myself down, I don't think I'm clever enough, thin enough. And I start insulting myself and I start cutting. And while I do so I have to try hard to keep on insulting, to keep on being emotional.
Sometimes nothing happens at all, I just get into the bathroom, lock the door and get the razor blade. And that's it. Read more »

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Creativity - Personal Story/Recovery Story published by 4 weeks ago ()

My Story

My name is Alyssa, I have had a self harming problem since the seventh grade. I was placed into a highly gifted program that was extremely stressful and on top of that, my parents were getting a divorce, and to add eve more, my best friend hated me! how was i supposed to deal with something like this? I didn't know how to. I remember the first day i cut myself. I was in class and it was too hrd, it was too much stress, and i felt really bad that day in general. I took my pencil, broke off the tip of the plastic and just started scratching at my wrist. it started to bleed but I liked the way the blood was, it wasn't running down my arm or anything, it wa just little dots of blood. As the year went on, my friend and i made up and I was diagnosed with depression by y doctor. It was caused by a combination of stres and sadness from my parent's divorce and school. Now that I knew what this was, I could stop rght? wrong. I continued cutting mysel until the middle of the year when my friends told a teacher about my little problem. To this day, I still don't know who, but if i ever find out, I'm going to thank them. They helped my realize that I wasn't healthy. I stopped cutting and I became happy again, masking my depression. When eighth grade came around, it was even more stressful. Read more »

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Creativity - Personal Story/Recovery Story published by Anonymous (not verified) 1 month ago ()

The First Time

I started cutting a few weeks ago, on the top of my thigh where no one can see them. The reason why I cut is because one of my buddies girlfriend tried starting a rumor that I was gay. I asked many of my friends what they thought, and they all said she was crazy. But no matter how many people told me otherwise, it just festered in my mind. I literally couldn't think about anything else except this one girl I really didn't know passing such judgment on me, and it was very painful. I needed a way to let go , forget and materialize the pain. That's when it happened. I went back to my dorm room, and after making sure my roommates were going to be gone for awhile, I took my scissors and started cutting. It was really more of scratches, but I kept doing it until I saw red. And it felt so good. It was a moment of clarity for me, where all the emotional buildup along with the mental was let go. Pure zen. Ever since that first time I've been cutting more and more often. I purchased a dissecting kit and tried using the knife in there. The cut was deeper but less painful, so I switched back to using my sharp scissors. I know I need help. I can't tell my friends here because I don't trust them enough with this. I don't want to tell my friends back home because they will think of me completely differently and might tell my parents. So instead I just keep on cutting because it is the only thing that I feel I have complete control over. Maybe one day I will tell someone, or maybe someone will see my scarred legs at the gym when I go running. Read more »

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Creativity - Personal Story/Recovery Story published by Anonymous (not verified) 3 months ago ()

First Blog

So this is the first blog that I have ever written about self harm. I have been cutting myself since I was 14 and I am now 19. I was sent to a care facility when my parents found out when I was 17. It had helped me stop cutting for a while but during that time I turned to drugs, alcohol and purging. I started cutting again not even 4 months after I was released from the facility. I still turn to purging and binge drinking at times. But I have since gotten clean off drugs. I know that my depression sparks these actions. I have been to therapy several times for it but it has not helped. I have the occasional suicidal thought which scares my mom. I do not like seeing her worry like she does but I just cant help myself. The cutting is the only way I know how to deal with my issues. I have started cutting in places that are not visible so that my friends do not see them. I feel that they will not know how to deal with it. And I dont want them to feel sorry for me or worry about me and not know how to act around me. They already worry about my drinking and tend to jump my case which they dont understand that the more they push me to not drink the more I want to. However, none of my friends know about my purging. I cant help but to continue purging when everybody tells me how great I look and how some of them wish they were as thin as me. In highschool I was bullied for being chubby. And I dont want to be bullied ever again. I just dont know how I am supposed to get better, especially when I dont want to fully stop.

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Creativity - Personal Story/Recovery Story published by Anonymous (not verified) 3 months ago ()

And so it began...

Reading everyone's stories makes me want to share my own because I feel, almost at home here.

I was never the girl that didn't fit in, in primary school I was pretty well known, by teachers and peers but I always felt something wrong. During sixth grade when everyone and everything in my life started showing how horrible it really could be was when I started to lose it. I come from a big family and they were always stressed out, I felt like there was no time for me, my best friend who was my big sister had not time for me, there was no one to talk to and I felt alone. Everyone at school began treating me differently, like I was contagious, someone they didn't want to be seen with, teachers started to lose patience with me over nothing and friends seem to be of a rarity. During a sixth grade camp hell broke loose, I was away from home, somewhere an antisocial person like me should never be. The dark of night began and my three room mates were fast asleep.

Although I distinctly remember that I was a good, rule abiding kid I have no idea what came over me that night. I used the pin of my skirt to slash open my wrists, being careful to dodge veins. I wanted pain, not death. Waking up in the morning and explaining to my teacher the blood everywhere was fun but she hardly question my excuse. Read more »

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Creativity - Personal Story/Recovery Story published by Anonymous (not verified) 3 months ago ()

Warrior's Wounds

My scars are battle scars. Every day is a battle with my own mind and there are causalities in every war; my causalities lie forever on my arms. I am one of the lucky ones; my scars are few and faded, but that doesn't mean there were never there.

There was once I time where I was losing this war. My pale arms were littered with scratches and cuts, wounds I claimed were from my aunt's cat - despite never visiting my aunt. But people? They'll believe you no matter how thin your excuses are. Give 'em a story and they'll accept it because it's easier to swallow than the truth: you cut yourself.

I am an army of one. There are no other soldiers, no infantry to save me. The cavalry isn't coming, no not for me. How can someone else battle with me inside my mind? You can't fight an enemy that you don't even know exists. I love my friends; I love them dearly, but that doesn't mean they understand. They're supportive and understanding; they ask me to talk to them about this, but I hate talking to them about it. They can't understand what I'm feeling, what I'm going through, and it just makes me realize how alone I truly am.

How do you tell someone without a care in the world that you want to cut yourself? How do you tell those carefree friends that you sometimes want to kill yourself? Read more »

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Creativity - Personal Story/Recovery Story published by Anonymous (not verified) 4 months ago ()

Alone

When I left, we were exterminated, my pack just like the rest of my race, hunted. Now only my brother and I remain the last. In my journeys here in the Northlands, I have tried in vain to find any of of my kind that survived, I thought I came close. They appeared on the surface to be like us, but when I dug deeper they were nothing, although save they don't look like us or act like us they loved me like one of us. But I know deep down that I am the last, I search for my mate still, but my musk attracts no one and my howls go unanswered, I don't know when I run in the moonlight or feed in the den that I am alone. My pack mates all dead and scattered to the winds, when I look into the waters it ripples with my hideousness. It seems my perfect mate is far from my reach and exists only in my dreams. "In the corner of the den, her small little hands holding and rubbing her swollen belly and laughing. I ask her "are the cubs kicking?" She said "yep, both are strong little boys, like their father." she laughed as I moved over towards the corner of the bed and laid next to her and put my hand on her belly and I could feel another kick. I wrapped my arms around her and lay my hand on her shoulder and brought her close, looking into her eyes." It doesn't help. I may die alone but I will always search for my pack, my family.

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Creativity - Personal Story/Recovery Story published by 5 months ago ()

My path.

I expected my life to be normal when I was younger. I thought I was going to grow up to be the happiest person anyone would know. I was normal. I got my reality check when I was 7 years old. My parents got in a fight. I mean they always fought, but not like this. There were glasses breaking and injuries caused to my dad. The worst part of it, I was asleep the whole time.
I never forgave myself for not realizing that that all happened and for being asleep. I always feel like I could have stopped it if I just were to wake up. And I didnt realize what had happened between my mom and dad until the next morning.
My mom had been taken to jail. My sister called the cops to end the fight. She was only 9 years old. When the cops arrived, they saw all the damages to my dad. They saw scratches, bruises, and cuts all over him. My mom had actually raised a fist to him. He didn't hit back. He couldn't. My dad always knew it wasn't in his nature to strike a woman.
Anyway, after that, the next 5 years passed in a blur until I was 12.
At that point, I was back with my mom, and well, things felt normal. I mean sometimes, my mom would come home drunk. And she was the angry kind of drunk. It was an awful process. She called me, my younger brother, and my older sister awful things.
And I remember the car rides when she would scream her lungs out at us for not doing simple tasks like loading the dishwasher or folding laundry. Read more »

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Creativity - Personal Story/Recovery Story published by 5 months ago ()

how it all began and progessed

starting in sixth grade (i had just moved and had no friends) i would constantly be bullied and put down by my peers. my father is a psychologist who works with children but i know hes never cared for me like he does my sister. with all the bullying and no good attention from my dad, one day in seventh grade i snapped. i first cut myself with the plastic ring around a water bottle. i wanted to see what it was like mostly but then all of my feelings just poured out. i was twelve when i started.... the cutting progressed rapidly. i starting using my nails, razors, knives, scissors, anything sharp i could find. in eigth grade i started getting out-of-the-ordinary piercings. i was the so-called "emo" kid that everyone picked on. in nineth grade, just thirteen, i would date guys that were at least seventeen or eighteen. i also started therapy and got on meds. the summer after nineth grade i starting swallowing safety pins, staples, pieces of plastic spoons, and other stuff. i would occasionally make myself vomit. while visiting my dad in new york, i was cleaning the bathroom and my dad put draino in the sink and i thought to myself "if i drink this i wouldnt have to deal with him." nothing was helping me and i knew it. i didnt want help though so it was okay. i started burning myself with lighters, and started smoking cigarettes at fourteen when my mom was diagnosed with cancer. now im sixteen, am a senior in high school, have twelve piercings, a tattoo, and way too many scars to count. im out of therapy but am still on meds. Read more »

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Creativity - Personal Story/Recovery Story published by Anonymous (not verified) 6 months ago ()

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