How do you explain a topic when you don’t understand it yourself? How do you answer questions like “why did you do it” when every time you try to speak, you can’t think of a reason? How can you begin to explain the reasons why you self harm?

A close friend of mine started it her sophomore year. When she told me, I asked her questions people started asking me months later. The stories in health classes taught me the dangers of self harm, but I never thought that one day, I would be telling a story of my own.
In November of my sophomore year, I moved to Connecticut. After four months, I felt alone and missed my old life. Falling into a deep depression, participating in things didn’t interest me and waking up was a struggle. When it was time to sleep, my mind would keep me awake, sometimes for hours.

Questions ran through my head and it frustrated me when there were no answers. One night a topic popped into my head: Self harm. I couldn't understand how a person would want to do that to themselves? Why would they want to physically cause that kind of pain?

The first time it happened, it was out of pure curiosity. I wanted to know. I needed to understand. It didn't hurt a lot--though it did hurt. And I wasn't any closer to understanding. It wasn't long before there was a craving to do it again...and again. It happened at times when feelings of sorrow or anger took over me. Though the worst times were when there was nothing. It was as though my emotions were taken from me and left with emptiness.

Pressing the blade to my skin, I felt as if I finally in control. The arguing between my parents. The name calling from the bullies. The rejection from my friends. None of it seemed to matter because I held the blade.

Cutting became a regular thing. Going from once in awhile to twice a week-maybe more. It became an addiction that kept getting worse and worse. Looking in the mirror, I realized my inner demons had taken over. Every time I self harmed, I would tell myself “never again” but that didn't worked.

After almost two years of living with this addiction, it was time to stop. I felt trapped inside myself and didn't recognize who I was. Wanting to change my life, I threw out my blades and prepared myself for the long road ahead of me.

Although the cuts have healed, scars still cover my body. Lingering on my arms and legs...mocking me. I have relapsed a couple of times, but i’m determined to stay strong. I’m not proud of what I've done and wish I could take it back. But these scars are now a part of me. And they have made me who I am.