An Autumn gift. For you~~~

This is a very personal story, but I'm willing to share it. Please stay respectful, understanding, and open-minded with comments. I know that can be a hard thing to grasp for some people on the interwebs.

A recent autumn, I became best enemies with a piece of metal which turned my soul inside out and my brain into mush. I was confused and lost and was on the verge of trying to lose my life. I had figured I had already lost my sanity, why not dispose of the rest of me? There were nights I would scream that vicious silent, suicidal scream feeling as though I should be thrown in a mental ward. I would take sticks and scratch them to my wrist until it was raw and bleeding. It got bad. And I knew that it would only get worse. I was a secret in myself. I kept away from my friends, my parents, my own boyfriend didn't know for months. One night, I had the courage to tell him. We went to our spot, the dugout at my high school where we always went to talk. It took me forever to find my words and finally said, I have a problem.

He told me that he would do anything in his power to get me help if I wanted it. I told him I would try to stop. He is my first love and my first support line who helped me get through my darkness. Six relapses after tries and tries of quitting, eventually that one talk in the dugout lead me to tell my mother and finally my dad. They were shocked. I could see it in their eyes disappointment. Not in me, but in themselves, like they had failed to keep me alive and well... And happy. I sat there on the couch, feeling embarrassed for feeling so weak. I wanted to run and all that was really on my mind was that razor. My mom got me to the doctor as soon as possible because the thing I wanted most was medicine. I didn't know what else would work because I was feeling so mad. I was sitting in the doctors office just me and my doctor and soon came my tears of guilt and a pleading for help. I walked away from the center with antidepressants handy and the secret out. I was being monitored and my mom started giving me body checks. I continued to relapse as one day, I walked into town, telling my mom that I was getting job applications, which I was... but that wasn't my first priority... I got a fresh batch of razors and came home as that night my hips took a beating knowing that they would later be covered by my underwear and I knew she wouldn't bother to check there. About three weeks later, after constantly being questioned, she asked me if I still had razors. I denied it and she didn't believe me so she told me to think about it. If I did, I should give them to her for her discretion. I sat there on my bed, feeling like I had lost and like a failure to my parents... with a razor in my hand, staring at the evil glare my reflection gave back through the rusty metal. I faced the truth that I was a wreck. Days and days of thinking, weeks later, I gave up my razors. My mom said it was the happiest day of her life. I was giving up my addiction. I still struggle with it today and to be honest, a slice here and there still happens once and again but I think. I think before doing it. Maybe.. I still have a problem. I guess the point of me telling all of this.. is that yeah, we as cutters, we as people with addictions, we as people with problems and anxiety, we as people that don't feel secure with themselves or others... we might always have our past whether it be in scars or somewhere else, talk to someone. Talking gets you places, a better place. I feel so much better, just knowing that I have a support system. Knowing that I have some sort of outlet in life, in my case my photography, tells me in time, maybe one day I will bleed no more. I will get better, and I am. Slowly. These Fall leaves are for my love, the one who helped me help myself to find the courage to seek help.

Note: the "cuts" in this photograph are not real, though... the scars under them are. And they are a reminder to me that though I felt pain, I healed. And I will continue healing. And so will you. We can do it.