|This is me, now
Author: llivia PM
I want people to understand why I, and many others, self-harm. This writing is an explanation to all you out there who think we are 'attention seekers' and this is 'normal teen angst' read this and find out how wrong you are.Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Angst - Words: 798 - Reviews: 12 - Favs: 1 - Follows: 1 - Published: 07-26-05 - id: 1971737
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
This is me, now
I have had enough of people who don't understand me, I really have. I want you to know right now why I cut myself, and I want you to understand. Why would you want to cause yourself pain? Why would you make yourself bleed? Why? Why not.
There are something in my life I hate, things I can't even think about without reaching for my razor. But these things are not why I cut, no.. I can deal with bad grades, breaking up with boyfriends and parents arguing, I can do that. What I can't do is love myself. Yes, believe it or not I hate who I am, I detest myself. When I look in the mirror I don't see a healthy 5'4 english girl with dyed black hair and a love for sugar, thats not who I see. When I look into the mirror I see everything I hate, I see the lies, the pain, the betrayal; I see ugly, fat, 'noone-likes-you' Livy. I hate who I am. So I can do something, I can punish myself, grab something sharp and dig it into my skin and smile as the pain makes me shudder... or I can walk around, bottling up all the anger and all the pain. If I didn't hurt myself, who would I hurt?
This is the part where you roll your eyes and call this normal teen angst. Go ahead, do it right now, I really don't give a fuck. If you look at me, and see someone cutting herself up over hormones, your all wrong. Who do you think I am? Am I that girl you saw choosing an outfit with her friends in a shop? Am I that teenager who smokes behind the bike shed at school and has a lip piercing? Am I the quiet girl who spends her sunday morning's in the library working for her exams? Did you see me in those people? Can you turnaround and tell me I am them? Want to know the truth? I am them, I am all of them and more. As a cutter I spend most of my life hiding things from people, my scars, my true feelings ect. This means I've become good at pretending. I could be any of those people, but its up to you to find the little bit of my crouching in the darkness beneath them. Do people ever find me? No, I've never been found, and I probably never will. I could never be mistaken for sweet, caring, little Livy. I am not who you think I am.
I am constantly trying to change, and then when I do change its not good enough for myself or I'm not perfect enough, so I change again. I try to be myself but I just end up acting like characters from books or movies. I hate it, I hate this, but what can I do? I don't wish myself dead, I just with there was something inside myself to be proud about and not to hate. What are the chances of me finding something like that before I die? Nil to one. Not going to happen.
Have you ever been afraid of happiness? Have you ever feared a perfect life? I do. I am afraid that if I am happy and if my life is flawless... I will mean nothing. I am afraid of being passionless. Thats one thing I do have... I have passion. I may hate myself but a least I fucking hate myself with passion. I may cut myself but at least I cut deep and it has meaning. I have passion, and I love it.
Want to know why I cut myself? Its the blood, the sharp pain. Its wonderful, its filling. It wakes me up inside. I have issues, depression and such, but I don't cut because of them. I cut because of the feeling... not relief... just... everything. I hate my scars, I dont see the point in them but I cut anyway and I probably will always cut. I love my passion, and I love my knife.
I think you are the first person I have ever tried to explain my self-harm to. I hope you understand why I do this now. Maybe one day i'll stop. Maybe one day little Livy will crawl out from the darkness and start a new life.. maybe. But for now, at least somebody knows everything is not what it seems. Next time you see me shopping with friends, being yelled at by a teacher or quietly working on my own, remember, there may be more to me than meets the eye.