Self-Inflicted Wounds

One question (asked)
One answer (given)
An impulse
A 13 year addiction
A lifetime of scars.

I started cutting at the age of 14.

Using a red Swiss army knife, I would make tiny, superficial incisions on my hands that could easily be hidden beneath my rings. I discovered cutting came with an immediate sense of relief.

As I became more comfortable and daring with my blade, the self-inflicted wounds became longer…and deeper. How did I get to the point of being able to physically harm my own body? All I can tell you is that I was overpowered with emotions - emotions too intense to communicate. I was so desperate for some kind of release. For me, cutting did just that – it numbed my emotional pain, momentarily freeing me from the internal anguish I was experiencing. Simply put, it was easier to bleed then it was to feel…and for a short time, I felt better.


Slowly Slipping Away

It’s important for me to tell you that I am solely responsible for my actions. I certainly don’t place blame on others. But in order for me to share my story completely, I need to explain the circumstances happening in my outer world that so drastically affected my inner core. My cutting was the result of two major events in my life: my parent’s rocky marriage and a back injury that would end my dream of playing college basketball.

For as long as I can remember, my parent’s relationship has been a love/hate, push/pull type of battle. The good times were amazing, and the bad absolutely devastating. As a kid, I found myself stuck in the middle having to choose sides. I was literally torn between the two most important people in my life. I was confused, angry and sad – silently, I was experiencing such a profound level of hurt. I started to blame myself for their fights and instinctively began to internalize every emotion and memory. The pain started to take up so much space. On the surface I wore a smile, but on the inside I felt like I was slowly dying. I was a walking time bomb waiting to go off...

Along with the constant fighting, there was another major event that occurred that acted as a trigger to the harm that was to come. Basketball was my life and passion - my dream was to play in college. The summer going into my junior year of high school, I took a fall on the court that would change my life as I knew it. Six months later I was diagnosed with rare, permanent fractures in my L5S1. Doctors told me this pain was something I would have to deal with for the rest of my life and if I continued to play, serious damage was inevitable. I felt my dreams slowly slipping away. As my team went undefeated, I sat on the bench desperately wanting to be part of their success.

The physical pain I was experiencing, coupled with the intense emotional heartache, just became too much for me to bear.

I started to cut in hopes of gaining some semblance of control…