Reblog if no matter if you have 50,000 or 50 followers, you appreciate every single one. Reblog if you appreciate the messages you get, whether it's 100 or 1. Reblog if a little smile comes across your face everytime you see a new follower or message. Reblog if even though most of us aren't tumblr famous, we appreciate the little things.
*I am asking everyone who may read this to please do so with caution and at least a hint of sensitivity.*
The first time I had suicidal thoughts I was 8 years old.
I began cutting myself at 11.
I stopped cutting as much around 20 and have cut myself less than 30 times since then.
I am 24 years old and I still think about it.
People believe that cutting is something that teenagers do to suppress the pain of adolescent depression or because of the need to “feel something”.
When I was 16 I saw my cuts and scars as a sort of security blanket. I was comforted by the feel of them and the thought that they were there. If things ever got to hard or I started to feel bad, I simply cut myself.
It is IMPOSSIBLE in this day and age to describe how cutting "helped me" without sounding incredibly emo and cliche but I will try to sum it up anyway.
It releases the pressure, it takes your mind off of the current situation and helps you focus of something different. I have heard people say that it "makes you feel like you can breath again".
It’s an addiction, a drug. Some people drink, some people shoot up, and others cut.
When I was younger I would defend it, encourage it even.
But it doesn’t. No matter how angry that makes you, no matter how much you want to fuss and fight and swear that because your "not trying to kill yourself" that it’s okay, it’s not. It’s just a bunch of bullshit lies you feed yourself until it starts making you sick. That’s the harsh truth.
Addicts will say anything.
Maybe at, at first, it started off as an experiment.
Maybe it started as a way to get attention.
Maybe it started because you were angry
because you were too fat
Because you didn’t have enough talent.
You were never gonna get out of this town.
Your parents didn’t get it.
Your friends didn’t really care about you.
You couldn’t be yourself.
You didn’t even know who you were.
Maybe it was religion.
Your lack of a sexuality or
Or maybe it was just because you could.
At the end of the day it doesn’t matter why you started, it has to stop.
I’m not going to lie, I’m not ashamed of my scars.
I have them on both arms and (cigarette) burns on my left hand and arm.
And I look at them all time and revisit each one like an old memory of a friend.
Sometimes I think about adding new ones.
I want to tell you that it goes away with time and maybe that is true but for me it isn’t. Not right now at least.
You’re always going to think about it. It’s always going to be there.
But you have to decide if you have the courage to keep going without giving into temptation.
And if you don’t, that’s okay. One day you will.
It doesn’t make you weak, it just means you are not ready to let go.
I hope that you have friends like I do that will listen to you rant about everything from your Manic Depression, Politics, Occupy to Tumblr, Supernatural and Glee (lol).