There's More
*This is a true story. Written by someone who went through this.
"Self-mutilation first hand"
It started on a Wednesday in April. It was a beautiful day (and to confirm by beautiful day I mean sunny , 65 degrees, and green grass that works so well with bare feet). I just got out of my chemistry class; my lab partner was not very nice to me, that day or in general. He like to call me names. Bitch and etc. I made the decision pretty quickly. I picked up my books walked across the all to the bathroom (God, I hated that bathroom) and stuck my finger down my throat. It was the most bittersweet feeling. I was relieved, but I was suddenly burden. I felt better, but guilty. I felt like I was in control, but I wasn't. What the fuck was I trying to be in control of anyway? Dear reader, please tolerate the language as there are times when only the most vulgar words will do to describe the most desperate scary feelings in the world. It was gross, though. I'm sure you know what it is like to throw up and if you don't count yourself lucky. There is that stingy, acidy, feeling. Burning almost. Either way it isn't pleasant.
The next day, a Thursday, I was wearing jeans and walking towards my Spanish class. I like Spanish. It was 8:15am. One of my friends, who shall remain nameless, made an off-handed comment. And just like that, that fast, it was triggered. I walked away. Walked into the bathroom and there I was again with that same damn feeling, doing the same damn thing. The end and beginning of a school day. Leaning against the stall I stared up at the ceiling and then at the graffiti etched into the door. "This is ridiculous", I thought, "I like food and I don't want to lose weight."
When I was nine my friend Chrissy told me that if you cut your wrists vertically, instead of horizontally, you won't kill yourself. That is where I came up with the idea. Paper clips, needles, pins, tweezers, scissors (if I was feeling brave). It was amazing all of sudden there was one solution to all my problems. I can never and never will be able to describe the true feeling of sitting against your bedroom wall staring at your wrist and a needle and the closed door. My door was always closed. Its wooden, really pretty. I can't lock it, but skeleton keys fit in the keyhole. It's real cool, you know. Skeleton keys, damn, why don't they bring those back?
There were always tears, but my dear reader these weren't just any tears. They spoke. They spoke louder than I seemed to be able to and they stayed. I lived with tears as residents in my body for a long time. Sometimes they would visit my eyes and face and sometimes they would just stay inside. There were always tears.
It was as if someone had locked me in a box and although people would knock on the box and talk to the box, they could not get through to me. I was so alone. Reader, I hope and pray you never feel the depth of that word. To sit alone at lunch or ride home alone on the bus is something completely different than constantly feeling alone. I can't metaphor simile this one and I sure as hell won't ask you to imagine it, but just so you know it hurts pretty damn bad.
I would lay down at night and wonder what the hell went wrong. I wasn't this kid.
When I was twelve my best friends and I were having a sleep over. One of them brought up anorexia and bulimia and we all decided, promised that we would never ever do something like that. Ever.
Nothing made sense anymore. It was like I was in this constant haze of deep fog and dark trees. I didn't understand. What didn't you understand, you say? Well if I could put it into one word I would tell you, but that's the kicker. It was everything, anything, all of it.
I didn't bleed that much. I usually didn't cut that deeply. It is a little odd, strange, whatever your word preference is to say the word cut and not mean paper or a piece of meat, but yourself. It hurts for a little while after, physically, I mean.
But, God, it hurt me. It hurt me. It hurt. Me.
~A. E. Prohaska
(questions see me)
"This site was created for an honors course at Monmouth College by students."