A lot can happen in thirty weeks.
You can pack and leave and disappear, never to be found again, living a whole new life.
You can finish one, three, ten, thirty, books in that time, filling your head with the fantasies and stories of your favourite characters.
You can celebrate a birthday, go to a wedding, attend a funeral, all in that span of just thirty weeks.
It’s been thirty weeks since I last dragged a blade across my skin. I look in the mirror and the cuts are still there, where I left them; on my ribcage, just under my left breast.
It’s not that I haven’t thought about it — quite the opposite in fact — I think about it constantly, my mind is filled with other ways to hurt myself, I can’t get away from the idea, I don’t believe I ever will, I just have to learn… to cope…
I think about it a lot, and recently the thoughts have had an uptick, triggered by I’m not sure what, but there must be a trigger? Right? I don’t know anymore.
I don’t understand why I stopped. But I’ve come to the conclusion that I don’t want to hurt myself anymore. I have to keep going, if not for me, for the people that made this easier for me.
I have to keep going for ******, who’s kept me grounded and who has been a shoulder to cry on. For it is he who is the love of my life, who has protected me and loved me, even when I feel as if there is no part of me worth loving.
I have to keep going for ****, who has shown me parts of myself that I kept hidden, who’s taught me that love comes first and worry comes later, and that even when it feels like life is falling apart, there is always a goodness in it. Sometimes you just need someone to show you that.
I have to keep going for ******* who has counted stars with me and played animal crossing with me and has made me laugh when it feels like everything is crumbling in front of me.
I have to keep going for ******, who has made me feel comfort in situations where I never thought I’d find myself feeling remotely okay.
I have to keep going for *****, who has always been there and has always listened and told me exactly what I need to hear.
I have to keep going for ******, because who else has listened and understood me more than he has? Who else has given me coping mechanisms that make sense, who else has protected me the best he can?
I have to keep going for ******, as she’s made me laugh and has pointed out things I was too blind to see for myself. Even as a twelve year old who spends too much time on TikTok, she is my angel (angle, if she prefers).
I have to keep going for all these people. I can’t give up.
But I have to thank myself, too. Because the truth is, not everyone knows what goes on in my head, but I know. I know that I constantly feel like I’m drowning, or underwater, or in a box. Lost, confused, in pain, hurting. Worried, scared, full of a fear that won’t dissipate, which can send me into a spiral where I feel helpless, shutting everyone — everything — out. Shutting light, love, hope, creativity, shutting every single good thing out of my life, feeling like it will never get better.
I’ve built up a self-restraint. A self-control. No one else has put the blade down, it was me. In the end, I deal with this alone. I deal with the thoughts alone. I am alone. And that is something I have easily come to accept because it doesn’t often feel like there is someone to turn to.
So I should be proud of me.
I’ve never felt as if it matters to anyone, quite frankly, it doesn’t feel like it matters to me. I don’t feel proud.
Sometimes, I feel as though I deserve a billion ugly scars, a billion deep gashes, across my body. It’s a strange feeling, and it’s one that isn’t easy to get rid of. Just as self-harm isn’t an easy thing to stop doing. Since I’ve stepped away from it, I’ve constantly thought about it.
Though I haven’t yet, I know I may fall back, I may relapse, I may let myself down, I may forget what there is to be proud of… but I know that if I can go through this process once, I can go through it again.
This Sunday, I looked in the mirror, at the scars that lined my ribcage. Those scars are part of me. They won’t disappear as easily as I want them to. Though I hate to admit it, they’ve been part of me for the longest time, they’ve made me who I am, they’re a constant reminder of a period in my life where a blade was my only solace. They remind me that I’ve come farther than I believe I have.
I haven’t gotten rid of my blade. It’s still there. However, I haven’t used it in 30 weeks. I’ve felt the desire to harm myself, of course, that doesn’t simply vanish once you’ve made the decision to stop. That decision, however, is a life-changing one, a difficult one. Though you may have relapses and fall short of a promise to yourself, the decision in itself is a sign of strength and of hope and of a belief in yourself.
The decision to stop is something I’m proud of. And scared of. But I know it was the right decision and I hope to stick with it.
Whether you know it or not, someone in your life may be struggling with thoughts or ideas of self-harm and suicide. Though there may not be a certain set formula for how you can help someone, like there’s a certain set formula for the Boltzmann distribution, let them know you’re there. Let them know how much they mean to you. You could be saving someone’s life.
Suicide Helplines
Canada:
833–456–4566
Text 45645
US:
1–800–273-TALK (8255)
Names are redacted.
