Day 29: A Confession (Day 29 of 30 Day Blogging Challenge)
The only proof left over are the scars on my arms and thighs. I did it all throughout my teens and twenties, and I was able to hide it until I was 21. No one knew, and if anyone suspected, they never asked any questions. It was my safely guarded secret – I was a cutter.
It never had anything to do with wanting attention, and it wasn’t about wanting to die. It was about so much pain on the inside that I couldn’t sooth, so if I cut, it bled out and then I could treat my wounds and feel better. It was almost euphoric to be in so much pain I couldn’t cry and then feel it rush out of my body.
I attended therapy for several years, and I learned my cutting was a symptom of something much deeper – sexual abuse I had suffered as a child and preteen. I didn’t have words at that age to describe the amount of pain I was in, but cutting gave me intense relief that I otherwise didn’t feel from the black hole eating me alive from the inside out.