All day, I have been going over and over in my head how to write this post. There is no easy way to do this so I’m just going to write.
Today, March 1, is National Self-Injury Awareness Day.
I’ve battled with depression since a very young age. I was in college before anyone found out that I cut myself. I remember that day very clearly. My sister and I were sitting on the sofa, and my mom wanted to take our picture. My sister and I started horsing around and that is when she saw the cuts on my arm. All hell broke loose. I was put into therapy and was put on meds. The only problem was that my insurance ran out in four months. I remember the morning I took my last pill. I held it in my hand and cried. I was scared and felt so alone. I didn’t know what to do. My 24th birthday was coming up and there was this guy that I liked. I cut myself 24 times the morning of my birthday. 24 little reminders that this would make it all better. I remember him looking at my arm and told me that if I wanted to date him, I had to stop this. I wasn’t sure if I could or not, but I gave it a shot.
That was 4 years and 8 months ago. We have since broken up.
I will be honest and tell you that I struggle every single day. Some days are easier than others. Some days, all I want to do is curl up in a ball and disappear. I made a pact with a good friend that if I ever walked up to her holding my wrists out, all she had to do was grab them and squeeze. Then we would talk. She no loner lives near me, but I think about that pact often. I think about how far I’ve come, but I still see how much farther I have to go. I think about my friends and family. I think about Broly. There is so much I have in my life to be thankful for, and I am. I am grateful for those who let me talk or just let me be.
This doesn’t get an easier, but I can promise that it does get better.