Stick Around Long Enough to Find Out

There was a point in my life when I literally wore my heart on my sleeve for the world to see. The pain and hurt I was carrying with me from the misfortunes of my life were expressed as vivid and angry red cuts along the lengths of my arms. Now that I have distance and perspective since that time in my life I can very clearly see that it was an intense need to be in control, a severe lack of healthy coping mechanisms and a desperate cry for help. I'm much older now and in a much better place but I'm left with the scars and the reminder that comes with them from the dark place I once was in.

I know I'm not alone in the feeling of liking to have a sense of control. I remember growing up feeling like I didn't have control over anything. Everyone around me was making decisions about my life for me without my input. I developed habits and routines to control what I could. Some things were harmless such as dying my hair whenever I got the itch. Others, not so much. I was roughly around the age of 9 when I started self harming. I don't remember what triggered it or why I even started. What I do remember is the panic that seemed to constantly surround my life. The only thing that seemed to make it all slow down and not hurt as much for awhile was cutting. The not so funny thing about cutting was it made me feel like I was in control. When everything else was out of my hands - this was my way to take back the power. The thing that no one talks about self harm is that it's addicting. It gives you a rush of adrenaline with a numb calming effect afterwards. For me it seemed like it started to spiral out of control. Almost like a drug addiction, I would self harm for the high it gave me. Eventually it was the cutting that started to control me. It's sad how ironic that feels putting it so plainly. The rush it gave me wasn't the only thing to keep my habit strong for years. Just like any other addict - you turn to your drug of choice for other reasons then before you know it you're in too deep.

Thankfully I was adopted and my mom was the first person to really work with my through my issues. I'd done therapy for what seemed like my entire life but it never seemed to help. Until I found the right therapist. Then having the right therapist lead to me other things that helped me recover. We concentrated on working on healthy coping skills, putting together lists and action plans, and she referred me to other resources (DBT Therapy) that ultimately made me quit the blade for life. If I would have had these coping skills and opportunities earlier maybe it could have saved me from a lot of gauze and antiseptic wash. Part of it was being receptive to getting better. You could have spewed coping skills and solutions at me all day. Listening is a totally different story.

Often times when you're young it feels like no one listens to you. In my old poetry I frequently described the feeling as being in a room full of people and screaming but it felt like no sound was coming out. Everyone knows the saying of actions speak louder than words. No one heard what I was trying to say so I had to act. If you would have asked me while I was in the worst throes of it I would have completely denied it being a cry for help. Being taken from my family and shuffled around from placement to placement, not only was ripping me apart mentally it was forcing my hand to physically tear myself apart. My outsides were starting to match my insides. I wish someone would have noticed sooner that I was struggling. I wish someone would have realized what was happening and tried to help me before it got as bad as it did. It wasn't until a few suicide attempts later and after being adopted that someone finally heard me. If it wasn't for my adoptive mom I honestly don't think I would be alive today. I remember the very last time I cut myself. It was deeper and worse than any other time before. My mom tried to convince me to go in to the hospital because I needed stitches. The grief and worry she wore on her face like a mask still haunts my memories to this day. I remember thinking that if I was gone my mom would be more sad than she was in that moment. I never self harmed again after that. When I was still self harming though my mom never made me feel ashamed. She never put me down because of it. She simply listened, wrapped my arms in bandages, and let me know how deeply she cared about me. If there is one piece of advice I could give parents who's children are harming - it would be to listen. REALLY LISTEN. Actions speak louder than words.

I've provided a link down below and a link to more info about DBT. Please, if you're struggling - seek help! People honestly do care about you! If you would have told me when I was suicidal and self harming that some day I would have made it to 22 and be happy and married, I would have laughed in your face.
It does get better. I promise.
 You just have to stick around long enough to find out.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline

Call 1-800-273-8255

Until Next Time

- PronouncedLeah