POSSIBLE TRIGGER WARNING. DO NOT READ FURTHER IF YOU SUSPECT YOU WILL BE TRIGGERED.
I’ve been hesitant to make this edition of Darcy Speaks, but it’s on my mind and I would rather it be set free rather than trapped.
To be blunt, I’ve struggled with self harm in multiple forms, the most prominent of them being “cutting”.
I’m 17 now and in grade 12, and it started when I was 14 and in grade 9. I don’t know the exact cause or how I had decided to do it, but I truly regret it.
Grade 9 and 10 weren’t so bad; the occasional cut, days gone without food every odd week, but I still considered myself to be fine. A teacher noticed my newly sliced wrist one day in class and confronted me. Thanks to her, I started seeing the school’s counsellor. It was good, but I continued to hurt and starve myself. I could not for the life of me see something wrong in what I was doing, and thinking back to that past mentality scares me.
Grade 11, last year, is when things began to change. By this point, many people knew about my self harm. My teachers, my friends, my church pastor. But they didn’t know the extent of it. That was my own. My own secret that I controlled. And I liked control.
Something happened that year that sent me “off the deep end”. The odd cut turned into my nightly routine. One a good night, it ranged between 10-20 shallow nicks. On a bad night, it was anywhere from 10-279. Shallow, deep, it didn’t matter.
One night in particular was awful. I can remember crying so hard that I couldn’t breathe properly. I sent a goodbye text to a friend who I thought was sleeping. I had the Advil bottle by my bed, and the new razors dancing on my fingertips. Then, the friend who should have been sleeping called. I declined the first ten times until I eventually gave in and picked up. Hearing his sobs on the other end of the line broke something in me, and I immediately saw the reality of my situation; I was bordering on life, and the wish of death.
He and I talked for hours, even though most of it was crying into the phone. After that night, I told my counsellor the full extent of my self harm with my friend there holding my hand. She called my mom, and that was awkward. But thankfully I got put on a waiting list to see a precessional. I did. For 7 weeks. And I can not believe the change it made.
Now, today, I am much better. It’s still a struggle and it has been in these last few days, but not as bad. Not nearly as bad.
There isn’t really a message to this except that if you are going through this, you don’t have to go through it alone. I can guarantee you that despite whatever voice may be singing you sick songs in the back of your head, someone out there WILL CARE. Someone out there LOVES YOU. And you have the capability to beat this. I promise.