Last night I had another great therapy session. Near the end of the session we discussed a part of my past that I have very rarely shared. The result of the, what seemed endless, bullying in school. Something I was able to hide from almost everyone. Along with hiding the constant bullying from family and friends, I hid my nightly ritual. This is not easy to write about. When my world seemed to be collapsing around me starting in 6th grade: losing all my friends and the start of the bullying, I started to contemplate suicide and I self harmed. Almost every night I would sit up in my bed with either a knife or a bottle of pills. Almost every night I thought it would be easier to just end it than deal with the pain any longer.
As I am still here, I never fully followed through. Maybe deep down I knew that things would eventually get better, even though it seemed impossible. I had felt so alone. I felt I had no one who really cared about me. It started with just holding the knife in my hand. Trying to bring it to my wrist. Then a bottle of pills in my hand, trying to bring it to my mouth. I was very hesitant at first, even though I really wanted my pain to end. Over a matter of weeks, the hesitation eased. That is when I began cutting. I started light. Barely breaking the skin. I pressed down just hard enough to cut through the top layer of skin. It only looked like scratches. Fearing what my parents would say with what my wrist was starting to look like, I moved to my inner thighs. Each night I'd go a bit deeper. Soon drawing blood. I would just watch as the blood came to the surface and run down the cut. I can't explain how it made me feel.... just maybe having the physical pain made the emotional pain subside, just for a moment.
I hit my apex in my junior year of high school. One night I finally got the nerve to take the pills. I had no idea what pills to take. So I downed a full bottle of Aleve and prayed I would not wake up the next morning. Apparently I couldn't die from taking a full bottle of Aleve. I started thinking of other ways to end my life. A girl in my class J.W. saw the signs. Over a couple of weeks she convinced me not to kill myself. I still cut, but not as deep as I used to. The pain was still there, but having someone see the signs and care gave me hope. I tried so hard to hide it from everyone in my life. Why I let my guard down to show her what I was feeling maybe was a subconscious cry for help.
Soon after that is when I began smoking. I made the conscious effort to replace my nightly ritual of cutting with a nightly cigarette. Over the next year or so I had completely stopped cutting as long as I had that nightly cigarette. If I skipped the cigarette, I would have that knife back in my hand. Smoking became my vice. A bad habit, yes, but I was no longer suicidal. I found something that made me feel good. Each drag just made the pain easier to deal with. By then also my life was getting better. I found myself surrounded by great friends, especially B, N, H, & M. How I hid this from them, I don't know. I put on such a good act I guess.
A few years later in college, things seemed to get bad again. I was far away from my friends. Getting bullied again. I was trying losing it, so I started cutting again. I picked up the knife with such ease. I still remember that night crystal clear. I can still feel how the blade felt going across my wrist. I, as usual, didn't not cut deep. Just enough for a little blood. I cut for the next few weeks or so. I finally stopped when I started dating my ex. After dating for a while, I felt it was time to put away the knife for good. I decided to get a celtic tattoo on my wrist to remind me not to cut. The reason I chose celtic was because I was part scottish and in my mind every time I look at the tattoo it will remind me of all those that came before me and they endured, so I should be able to endure to.
Since getting the tattoo, I have not cut. I've thought about it, but I have too much to live for now. No matter how bad I feel, I just need to look at my wife and feel her love. She is my reason for being. And I would never want to hurt her. When things get bad, instead of cutting I may pick a scab or pick the skin by my nails. That's the extent of my self harm now. Since quitting smoking cigarettes, it has been a little difficult not having that ritual, but thankfully I am smoking pipe tobacco once a day. That has given me my nightly ritual back. It's a close substitute.
I like to think that maybe way back when I started cutting, the deep down reason I didn't take my life is because the fates knew what I'd have now: a loving wife, 3 wonderful kitties, 3 best friends, and an amazing famylie.
