Hello, I am a cutter.
I've just come back from an amazing and refreshing time in Batam. A time where I was very filled and returned happy as a clam.
But I am still a cutter.
And I have been a cutter for seven years now.
There is nothing, absolutely nothing like the rush of feeling everything flow out from that single exit point. "I'll help that along," you think, and you're laughing, smiling, sickeningly delirious as you blindly swing at your arm over and over and over again.
And then your breathing evens, and you sober up by pressing tissue against yourself in an attempt to soak up the mess that is you.
But in those few minutes, the world is made right again. You are in control because you're the only one who can cause yourself more hurt than the people around you. You are in control because you know of a way to release the anger or frustration that is knotted up in your chest and destroying you from the inside out.
And for a while after that, you find yourself smiling. Smiling because you've a secret under your sleeve that the world doesn't know about. Smiling because they can try to destroy you but they can't come close enough. Smiling, because everytime you press down on your sleeve again, you send a sharp pain searing through your arm. A pain that helps you relax and breathe and smile at people.
Hello, I am a cutter. I've been a cutter for seven years now, and I will likely be one for the rest of my life.
But then, for the first time in seven years, I'm typing all of this out on a public blog.
A blog you will read and laugh at, point at, and pass judgement.
I don't need pity, or shouts of "get yourself on medication!" I don't want people to tell me that anything that I go through is not worth cutting myself over. Because you have no clue. It's not whether or not the issue is worth it, is that this is my coping mechanism.
It might not be the best, or the smartest, but it is what works for me.
And for the first time in seven years, i typed all of this out,
instead of reaching for my knife.