Therapy became a huge part of my life. Some I liked, others annoyed me. I even had a lady visit me at my moms house. I remember sitting in the basement talking to her, wondering if her coming to my house was done purposely. There were so many more eyes and ears. Everyone wanted to hear a little bit about me. Once they got a little taste, they wanted more. The therapist and I sat there in complete silence. She begged me to look at her in the eyes. But staring at the floor made me feel at ease. She would ask me to tell her what’s on my mind. What I really wanted to say was I couldn’t wait for her to leave. Instead, I shut down and waited for her to get the hint.
The only therapist I truly liked was Jessica. She was an older lady who didn’t force me to speak my mind. She would’ve sat in the dark for the whole hour if that’s what I wanted. For once I didn’t count down the minutes until it was time to go. She understood me and that’s all I asked from anyone. I was tired of being judged when I finally became comfortable in my own skin. And then the thoughts came back. I didn’t want to live anymore. I knew everyone would be better off without me. I cried to Jessica. She wanted nothing but for me to be happy. Everytime we met for an appointment, I promised I would no longer cut. But sometimes the urge became unbearable. I started to believe that the only way to release this demon was to give in. So I did, at my weakest moments. I purposely made them look like my cat came after me. But when Jessica would ask if I was still cutting, I told her the truth. Again, she didn’t judge me. Instead she came up with ways to replace my urge to cut.
“Wear a rubber band around your wrist. When you want to cut, pull and release against your skin. Let it hurt.”
“Hold a piece of ice in your palm until you can’t take the pain anymore.”
Genius. I didn’t want to see blood anymore. But the scars, that’s what defined me. I wasn’t ashamed to wear short sleeves in front of my friends or family. Jessica taught me how to ignore what others thought of me. There are still some scars that show to this day, and I am proud. I am proud to say that yes I’ve been through a dark time. I didn’t always believe that I would be set free. But I am here, and I am a survivor.
We are all survivors in our own, UNIQUE, ways.