Post by wolfamorph on Sept 15, 2012 20:43:30 GMT -5
About all of you
I found this, and want to share this with all of you. I want you to read all of this and share this with your friends and family, anyone who could benefit.
Before you read it, though, I want to tell you my story.
When I started first grade, the cliques started forming.
I was quickly cast out and made fun of. I was five.
Some kid even bit me.
I never had any friends until I turned nine in fourth grade.
Her name was Ellie.
She had a farm and a nice house. We hung out every weekend and played littlest pet shop.
That's when I started cutting.
It started out with a small pair of scissors, a pair that was made for emergency survival. They were about three inches long, handle and all.
I started on my hands.
Small nicks I could pass off for cuts I got from climbing trees or falling down.
The comments to kill myself started in fifth grade.
Everyone made fun of me and called me names.
They even found my instant messenger name and cyber bullied me.
Everyday.
The nicks turned into small cuts, barely drawing blood.
I sixth grade, I moved to my wrists.
I was 10 and a half.
I also upgraded to a small blade that came with the scissors.
The handle was red with a white cross on it.
The cuts become a little longer. A little deeper.
The kids got meaner and meaner.
That's when I got labeled emo.
Ellie started to notice, but never said anything.
That was the year I was also institutionalized for depression.
No one knew I self injured. They just knew I wrote depressing stories and poems, drew sad pictures and listened to depressing music.
they found out about my self injuries after I was released.
I was out on meds and got a therapist.
I never stopped cutting. It only got worse.
In seventh grade, I started cutting my forearms.
I still have the scars today, from when I was 12.
I'm sixteen at the end of the month.
People told me I was worthless.
That I was nothing.
That I was ugly and should cut myself up my arms and bleed myself out.
They said I should kill myself.
Ellie couldn't relate to me.
No one could.
Thats when I got blaze, towards the end of the year.
I eighth grade, I tried to kill myself by taking over 30 Benadryl. I only ended up having terrible hallucinations.
I cut my shoulders, my legs, my stomach.
I was 13, almost 14.
I still have those scars, still puffy and pink. I'll provide links at the end.
I cut my thigh so deeply, I could see the main artery, the femoral, just centimeters under my bleeding skin. I was about to cut it open, ready to end my life.
The blaze came into my room. He jumped on my bed, stood over me and stared me in the eyes.
He was barely a year old.
A baby, like myself.
He saved me and made me stop.
I haven't cut since.
Even now, in 10th grade, I still struggle with bullying and harassment. People still tell me to kill myself. I lost my friend Ellie in 9th grade, she de friended me over a boy.
I still have no friends. Only my baby blaze.
I go to bed every night, thinking about how good it would feel to start hurting myself again, to feel that rush, to taste the blood. The sting. The burn. The scabs that could be picked, the wounds squeezed and scratched.
I miss it.
I crave it.
But most of all, I fear it.
I fear it will consume me and take over.
For now, I have blaze to keep me sane. He is what keeps me going.
But where will I be in ten years, maybe 12, when he must finally leave me?
I wish I knew.
Every night I prayed for something bad to happen to me. I wanted to be kidnapped, jumped, raped, used for prostitution. Anything to give me a reason to have the feelings I had.
Please, think before you ever start doing anything to yourself that could harm you. It will never leave you once you start.
You will carry it to your grave.
Now, I want you to read this article I found.
'Before you self harm in any way, you should probably know what you’re getting into.
Before you make that cut, please keep in mind that you will find the pain release and blood strangely addictive.
You may think to yourself that you’ll be able to control it, that you won’t let it get out of hand.
You may think that you can just stick to a few small, shallow cuts here and there that won’t be deep and that will heal quickly and easily.
But you’re wrong.
You can’t control it, it’s impossible to control.
It controls you. It’s an addiction.
The cuts will get deeper, they’ll scar.
They’ll take weeks to months to heal and years for the scars to actually begin to fade.
You’ll find that soon, you depend on it. You can’t go more than a few days without cutting.
You’ll go crazy as your skin itches and burns, your hands shake, your head pounds, your vision goes blurry as you try to keep your mind off of it, try to hold back from giving in.
But you will.
If you think you can limit the cuts to just one area of your body, you better think again.
It’ll spread slowly but steadily, like a deadly virus.
It’ll spread as you run out of skin, from your wrists to arms, past your elbows, up your shoulders down to your stomach, across your hips and waist and soon will cover your every inch of your legs right down to your ankles.
I hope you’re prepared to withdraw from others and live in a constant state of shame and guilt.
Even if you have been the most honest person to ever live, you will lie to your friends, family members, everyone around you who you care about.
You’ll find yourself jerking back from the touch of someone, as if their fingers and hands have been bathed in a toxic, burning poison.
You’ll be terrified that they will feel a scar or cut from beneath the fabric of your shirt or because it just plain hurts so much to simply be touched.
Be prepared to become your own worst enemy.
You’ll fear yourself, your head, the urges that taunt you every minute of every day.
You’ll come to fear the next time you cut because you don’t know how bad it’ll be. Wait for the 10 cuts to turn into 20 then 50 then 100.
You’ll be covered in scars and cuts.
Your entire life will begin to revolve around your addiction. You’ll constantly be thinking about cutting, covering up your cuts, how you’ll hide your blades, scissors, bobby pins and the other objects you use to destroy your body.
And then..the first time that you cut “too deep.”
The bleeding won’t stop and you’re gasping, shaking, panicking, fear takes over you.
You pray and hope that the bleeding will stop.
Your purpose wasn’t to die, you won’t ever go that deep again.
Right? Wrong.
You’ll go there again, and deeper.
But don’t worry.
You’ll learn how to take care of your cuts so you don’t have to take a trip to the hospital every night.
The better you get at treating your wounds, the worse they become.
You’ll lie to yourself and try to justify it when you go to the pharmacy and drug store, finding yourself spending 20, 30, 40 dollars on dressings, gauze, alcohol wipes and sterile strips.
You’ll tap your foot impatiently, hoping that no one stares and asks you why you’re buying all of these things.
But at the same time..you hope someone asks, so you know they care.
Be prepared to spend even more money on an entire new wardrobe.
Long sleeved shirts, hoodies, long pants, boots, bracelets, wristbands.
The list goes on forever.
You’ll keep scanning other people’s bodies for signs of self harm, hoping that there is someone else out there who feels the same way you do.
Hoping, praying that they will be like you. But that will never happen.
You’ll see clean, uncut, unmarked arms and feel even more alone and ashamed than before.
You’ll do a lot of things alone, be prepared to kiss your social life goodbye.
You’ll always be doing your laundry, always in private so no one sees the blood stained towels and clothes.
You’ll be spending hours scrubbing blood from the bathroom floor, and wiping dried blood off of your keyboard.
You won’t be able to make it a day without cutting.
You’ll carry an emergency kit in your wallet, purse, bag.
A key, safety pin, a needle, a paperclip, even a pencil.
Everything around you will become a weapon.
It doesn’t matter what it is, as long as it gives you that feeling that sends you reeling.
Next thing you know, you’re in the bathroom stall at your school or work, picking open the scab of an old cut with a needle.
Say goodbye to all of the things you took for granted.
Shorts, sandals, tank tops, swimming in the summer, going to the beach.
All of these things will be a far off memory.
I hope you like itching and scratching non stop.
You will itch and itch and itch.
It’ll be so much that it’ll look like you have some sort of flesh eating disease.
You will become an expert on your body as you carefully destroy it, taking it apart piece by piece.
You will dream of cutting, dreaming of getting caught. It will haunt you day and night, in your dreams and when you are awake.
Cutting will take over your life.
It now has it’s hold over you, it controls you.
You’ll hate yourself, hate yourself for making that first cut that threw you into this vicious, never ending cycle.
You’ll wish you never made that first cut.
You’ll wish you had read something like this, or that someone had told you what would happen.
But as much as you hate your addiction and self harm, you love it and can’t live without it.
You’d rather die than go just a few weeks without cutting.
So, please don't.
This was written by a player named Tanner before he committed suicide in March of 2012. Anyone thinking of suicide or self harm....please. Don't. You are loved. You are beautiful. Whatever your story, suicide is NOT the answer. If you need to please feel free to PM me any time. I've been there. I understand. I will not judge you. Please honor Tanner by reposting this.'
This is the national Suicide Hotline (USA only)- 1-800-273-8255
I you ever need to talk, you can call any time of day, free of charge.
Or, you can pm me here or on howrse.
Or, you can text or call me at 815-341-4687
Please, think about what you're doing.
Don't do this to yourself.
Here is the aftermath of my 11 years of depression.
I'll leave the links, as some may not want to view them.
i450.photobucket.com/albums/qq227/wolfamorphbenjaz/f8a9d6c6700fd119282e247f28dd5f77.jpg
i450.photobucket.com/albums/qq227/wolfamorphbenjaz/a8b5e8cc1cd62baad6750ebc1ea6d613.jpg
i450.photobucket.com/albums/qq227/wolfamorphbenjaz/58258d47d1952de592f41cafdc406a00.jpg
i450.photobucket.com/albums/qq227/wolfamorphbenjaz/92e39a4e2b5e90b5c8f79f2d415a9e41.jpg
That isn't even all of them.
I'm here for you, even when you feel like no one else is.
I found this, and want to share this with all of you. I want you to read all of this and share this with your friends and family, anyone who could benefit.
Before you read it, though, I want to tell you my story.
When I started first grade, the cliques started forming.
I was quickly cast out and made fun of. I was five.
Some kid even bit me.
I never had any friends until I turned nine in fourth grade.
Her name was Ellie.
She had a farm and a nice house. We hung out every weekend and played littlest pet shop.
That's when I started cutting.
It started out with a small pair of scissors, a pair that was made for emergency survival. They were about three inches long, handle and all.
I started on my hands.
Small nicks I could pass off for cuts I got from climbing trees or falling down.
The comments to kill myself started in fifth grade.
Everyone made fun of me and called me names.
They even found my instant messenger name and cyber bullied me.
Everyday.
The nicks turned into small cuts, barely drawing blood.
I sixth grade, I moved to my wrists.
I was 10 and a half.
I also upgraded to a small blade that came with the scissors.
The handle was red with a white cross on it.
The cuts become a little longer. A little deeper.
The kids got meaner and meaner.
That's when I got labeled emo.
Ellie started to notice, but never said anything.
That was the year I was also institutionalized for depression.
No one knew I self injured. They just knew I wrote depressing stories and poems, drew sad pictures and listened to depressing music.
they found out about my self injuries after I was released.
I was out on meds and got a therapist.
I never stopped cutting. It only got worse.
In seventh grade, I started cutting my forearms.
I still have the scars today, from when I was 12.
I'm sixteen at the end of the month.
People told me I was worthless.
That I was nothing.
That I was ugly and should cut myself up my arms and bleed myself out.
They said I should kill myself.
Ellie couldn't relate to me.
No one could.
Thats when I got blaze, towards the end of the year.
I eighth grade, I tried to kill myself by taking over 30 Benadryl. I only ended up having terrible hallucinations.
I cut my shoulders, my legs, my stomach.
I was 13, almost 14.
I still have those scars, still puffy and pink. I'll provide links at the end.
I cut my thigh so deeply, I could see the main artery, the femoral, just centimeters under my bleeding skin. I was about to cut it open, ready to end my life.
The blaze came into my room. He jumped on my bed, stood over me and stared me in the eyes.
He was barely a year old.
A baby, like myself.
He saved me and made me stop.
I haven't cut since.
Even now, in 10th grade, I still struggle with bullying and harassment. People still tell me to kill myself. I lost my friend Ellie in 9th grade, she de friended me over a boy.
I still have no friends. Only my baby blaze.
I go to bed every night, thinking about how good it would feel to start hurting myself again, to feel that rush, to taste the blood. The sting. The burn. The scabs that could be picked, the wounds squeezed and scratched.
I miss it.
I crave it.
But most of all, I fear it.
I fear it will consume me and take over.
For now, I have blaze to keep me sane. He is what keeps me going.
But where will I be in ten years, maybe 12, when he must finally leave me?
I wish I knew.
Every night I prayed for something bad to happen to me. I wanted to be kidnapped, jumped, raped, used for prostitution. Anything to give me a reason to have the feelings I had.
Please, think before you ever start doing anything to yourself that could harm you. It will never leave you once you start.
You will carry it to your grave.
Now, I want you to read this article I found.
'Before you self harm in any way, you should probably know what you’re getting into.
Before you make that cut, please keep in mind that you will find the pain release and blood strangely addictive.
You may think to yourself that you’ll be able to control it, that you won’t let it get out of hand.
You may think that you can just stick to a few small, shallow cuts here and there that won’t be deep and that will heal quickly and easily.
But you’re wrong.
You can’t control it, it’s impossible to control.
It controls you. It’s an addiction.
The cuts will get deeper, they’ll scar.
They’ll take weeks to months to heal and years for the scars to actually begin to fade.
You’ll find that soon, you depend on it. You can’t go more than a few days without cutting.
You’ll go crazy as your skin itches and burns, your hands shake, your head pounds, your vision goes blurry as you try to keep your mind off of it, try to hold back from giving in.
But you will.
If you think you can limit the cuts to just one area of your body, you better think again.
It’ll spread slowly but steadily, like a deadly virus.
It’ll spread as you run out of skin, from your wrists to arms, past your elbows, up your shoulders down to your stomach, across your hips and waist and soon will cover your every inch of your legs right down to your ankles.
I hope you’re prepared to withdraw from others and live in a constant state of shame and guilt.
Even if you have been the most honest person to ever live, you will lie to your friends, family members, everyone around you who you care about.
You’ll find yourself jerking back from the touch of someone, as if their fingers and hands have been bathed in a toxic, burning poison.
You’ll be terrified that they will feel a scar or cut from beneath the fabric of your shirt or because it just plain hurts so much to simply be touched.
Be prepared to become your own worst enemy.
You’ll fear yourself, your head, the urges that taunt you every minute of every day.
You’ll come to fear the next time you cut because you don’t know how bad it’ll be. Wait for the 10 cuts to turn into 20 then 50 then 100.
You’ll be covered in scars and cuts.
Your entire life will begin to revolve around your addiction. You’ll constantly be thinking about cutting, covering up your cuts, how you’ll hide your blades, scissors, bobby pins and the other objects you use to destroy your body.
And then..the first time that you cut “too deep.”
The bleeding won’t stop and you’re gasping, shaking, panicking, fear takes over you.
You pray and hope that the bleeding will stop.
Your purpose wasn’t to die, you won’t ever go that deep again.
Right? Wrong.
You’ll go there again, and deeper.
But don’t worry.
You’ll learn how to take care of your cuts so you don’t have to take a trip to the hospital every night.
The better you get at treating your wounds, the worse they become.
You’ll lie to yourself and try to justify it when you go to the pharmacy and drug store, finding yourself spending 20, 30, 40 dollars on dressings, gauze, alcohol wipes and sterile strips.
You’ll tap your foot impatiently, hoping that no one stares and asks you why you’re buying all of these things.
But at the same time..you hope someone asks, so you know they care.
Be prepared to spend even more money on an entire new wardrobe.
Long sleeved shirts, hoodies, long pants, boots, bracelets, wristbands.
The list goes on forever.
You’ll keep scanning other people’s bodies for signs of self harm, hoping that there is someone else out there who feels the same way you do.
Hoping, praying that they will be like you. But that will never happen.
You’ll see clean, uncut, unmarked arms and feel even more alone and ashamed than before.
You’ll do a lot of things alone, be prepared to kiss your social life goodbye.
You’ll always be doing your laundry, always in private so no one sees the blood stained towels and clothes.
You’ll be spending hours scrubbing blood from the bathroom floor, and wiping dried blood off of your keyboard.
You won’t be able to make it a day without cutting.
You’ll carry an emergency kit in your wallet, purse, bag.
A key, safety pin, a needle, a paperclip, even a pencil.
Everything around you will become a weapon.
It doesn’t matter what it is, as long as it gives you that feeling that sends you reeling.
Next thing you know, you’re in the bathroom stall at your school or work, picking open the scab of an old cut with a needle.
Say goodbye to all of the things you took for granted.
Shorts, sandals, tank tops, swimming in the summer, going to the beach.
All of these things will be a far off memory.
I hope you like itching and scratching non stop.
You will itch and itch and itch.
It’ll be so much that it’ll look like you have some sort of flesh eating disease.
You will become an expert on your body as you carefully destroy it, taking it apart piece by piece.
You will dream of cutting, dreaming of getting caught. It will haunt you day and night, in your dreams and when you are awake.
Cutting will take over your life.
It now has it’s hold over you, it controls you.
You’ll hate yourself, hate yourself for making that first cut that threw you into this vicious, never ending cycle.
You’ll wish you never made that first cut.
You’ll wish you had read something like this, or that someone had told you what would happen.
But as much as you hate your addiction and self harm, you love it and can’t live without it.
You’d rather die than go just a few weeks without cutting.
So, please don't.
This was written by a player named Tanner before he committed suicide in March of 2012. Anyone thinking of suicide or self harm....please. Don't. You are loved. You are beautiful. Whatever your story, suicide is NOT the answer. If you need to please feel free to PM me any time. I've been there. I understand. I will not judge you. Please honor Tanner by reposting this.'
This is the national Suicide Hotline (USA only)- 1-800-273-8255
I you ever need to talk, you can call any time of day, free of charge.
Or, you can pm me here or on howrse.
Or, you can text or call me at 815-341-4687
Please, think about what you're doing.
Don't do this to yourself.
Here is the aftermath of my 11 years of depression.
I'll leave the links, as some may not want to view them.
i450.photobucket.com/albums/qq227/wolfamorphbenjaz/f8a9d6c6700fd119282e247f28dd5f77.jpg
i450.photobucket.com/albums/qq227/wolfamorphbenjaz/a8b5e8cc1cd62baad6750ebc1ea6d613.jpg
i450.photobucket.com/albums/qq227/wolfamorphbenjaz/58258d47d1952de592f41cafdc406a00.jpg
i450.photobucket.com/albums/qq227/wolfamorphbenjaz/92e39a4e2b5e90b5c8f79f2d415a9e41.jpg
That isn't even all of them.
I'm here for you, even when you feel like no one else is.
