One minute everything is fine, and the next, you are wondering how you managed to tear everything apart. Actions force things forward, and the grip you have on things is lost, and all at once. What you think you own, and order, and manipulate, is suddenly out of your hands.
You get a strange feeling when you’re about to leave a place. Like you’ll not only miss the people you love but you’ll miss the person you are now at this time and this place, because you’ll never be this way ever again.
"Personally, I dislike lies," he said. "I find that if you act them out long enough, you begin believing them. You'll find that lies are natural for people here. Having a façade is normal, because being honest is such a hassle. You have to decide what bothers you most - lying all the time, or the consequences of openness."
I kept cutting, because it worked. When I cut, I felt better for a while. When I cut, my life no longer overwhelmed me. I felt too keenly the thread of chaos, of how things can get away from you in a thousand ways. Bodies expand, grades plummet, pets die, paint peels, ice caps melt, genocide erupts. Entropy keeps eating at the ramparts, and I cut to shore them up. I cut to lay down a line between before and after, between self and other, chaos and clarity. I cut as an affirmation of hope, saying, I have drawn the line and I am still on this side of it.
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 was 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.
