I've seen a lot of stories about self harm on here recently and it's shocking me to be quite honest, how open people can be to talk about it.
At A Glance Author anonymous Contact anonymous@bme.anon When Six months ago Artist yours truly Location london I have been a 'cutter' for several years, in and out of psychiatric units because of it. The most recent time was only a few weeks ago and perhaps this could even be a slight warning to some of the cutters on here. By all means, do as you please but be aware of this story as it may help you to reconsider your method of self injury. There's absolutely no way I would promote self harm or prejudice myself against it.
So anyways, enough of the preaching. I was at some mad party, involving a lot of drinking, drugging, dancing and the like. I guess everything got a little out of hand, a heated debate turning into a fight. There was just too many people, too much noise, i'm not good at dealing with situations like that.
I guess it all got a little hectic, a little too much for me. So into my bathroom I go and burn the disposable razors laying around next to the sink. Door is locked of course, I have never cut in front of anyone. That's one thing I will never allow myself to do. I pull the blade out of the melting plastic and I don't even remember what was going through my mind. I remember burning my fingers on my plastic. Nowadays I don't even think why, it is so habitual and it will get like that. It is so addictive, but you will enjoy it less and less the more you do it. But that won't stop you from wanting to do it.
So, razor blade in, pull and out again. Blood spurting from the middle of my arm and my best friend banging on the toilet door. In some drunken daze I open it and sit myself back down on the floor, not even caring about the blood ABSOLUTELY EVERYWHERE.
Next thing I know is someone shouting "CALL AN AMBULANCE!". Another trip to Accident&Emergency, which is pretty much a weekly occurance and has been for couple of years now.
Wake up in the morning with fifteen stitches and a referral back to the local nut-house which i had recently been discharged from after a six month stay. Great.
Luckily, I discharged myself after a few days there, but it haunts me. The constant threat of getting sectioned under the mental health act. I know I'm not crazy and I know I'm not ill and I told that to my Dad on New Years Eve 2004 when the hospital wouldn't let me home for the night. And my Dad's response was "well, why do you cut yourself then?"
This is no life to lead. I guess this is more gentle advice than an experience purely because I see people who have just started doing it and if only I could show you a picture of my arms and legs and stomach or tell you the horrors and loneliness and stigma of a psychiatric ward where you will be staying until you stop cutting if anyone finds out..perhaps, maybe, just maybe you will reconsider the depths of uncreative self mutilation.
Recently, everything has been sorting itself out and I've been relatively happy. I'm going to be getting plastic surgery for my arms, but that means no cutting for 2 years or the surgeons refuse to operate. I have been going to a skin camoflauge clinic which prescribes me expensive make up to cover the coloured scars, but it still doesn't hide the bumps and ditches of the scars. I still look like I've been in a terrible accident!
By no means am I belittling anyones problems, as I know for a fact cutting can ease many stresses. It is just so destructive. You will never forget your problems when they're written all over your body. I was talking to my Dad about cutting yesterday. I asked what he would prefer, if I had scars or tattoos. He hates tattoos. He said tattoos.
I guess all I'm trying to say is that Body Modification is a beautiful, beautiful thing when done properly, but my body is now so ugly and fucked up and the novelty of being a 'cutter' has worn off and I'm left being judged as a freak who wears jumpers and jeans in boiling point temperatures, who can't go swimming or sun-bathing or even get intimate with someone without feeling completely self concious. I mean, how sexy would you feel when you're getting it on, he's taking off your clothes and BAM! he is shocked and disgusted because you actually looked disfigured because of all your scarring. He can't believe it, he's turned off, he leaves.
This is no cry for sympathy, I did this to myself through choice but it was the worst decision I have ever made. My body is now just a patchwork of all the times I fucked up.