Vibrant to Broken: My Teenage Struggle with Self-harm.

 No one wants to say that they attempted suicide, or even thought about it at thirteen years old- much less fifteen and sixteen years old. No one wants to think that they would have scars that they had no funny story about, but I did. 

There are over 70% of people who self-harm. I was a part of that statistic. I was a happy child, until my life got turned upside down. Once I moved back to the U.S. I was overwhelmed with culture shock, my body changing, and being an outsider in my own country. We moved to a rural part of Louisiana, into a three bedroom house, where I had no idea how much my life would change. How I learned about self-harm? From a girl that I considered my best friend at the time. It was a great friendship, and I didn't understand what self-harm was until the moment I slipped up. At fourteen, I betrayed her, and lied to my parents. 

I felt worthless. I wanted to kill myself. I wanted to do penance for my betrayal of the only friend that I had. After that, I was an outsider- more so than I ever had been. I became depressed and desperate for some way of healing. 

The first time I self-harmed, I was scared. It hurt, but then again it helped me feel like I was finally forgiving myself for the things that I had done. I felt like scum, and I felt like this was the only way that I could contend with the heinous sin that I had committed. I had always promised myself that I would never turn my back on a friend- yet I did. To me, it was unforgivable. Over the few months, it escalated from a nail file to a broken razor and a knife. The minor scratches on my shoulders became three inch cuts on my forearms, shoulders, and hips. My body riddled with the pain that I didn't understand but couldn't quit. I was in deep and sinking deeper. 

At the same time, I didn't feel beautiful. I felt fat, disgusting so I began to run. I ran around the street in the heat of the day and turned my nose up to food that I thought I couldn't eat. Slowly, I saw the number on the scale go down. The little girl that was once so vibrant and wise, now broken down by a number and a razor blade. The issues got deeper as I turned fifteen, an app that I used to go on which was usually used for wedding planning and baby names, I used to search for " ways to hide scars", " self harm ideas". The things I saw are ingrained into my mind even till now. It is nothing any person should ever see. But seeing those pictures made me think that there were other people out there like me. I finally felt like I belonged to something. That's all I wanted in the end. 

I almost attempted suicide at thirteen. I was going to overdose on a medicine I was taking and fall asleep. Something inside me- which I believe it was God telling me stop- told me to put it back. I threw the pills into the wall and ran to my room, and cried myself to sleep.The second time, I was fifteen. I was in the bathroom thinking about how much better would be because of how unfit I thought I was to even breathe. I wanted to strangle myself. The third time, was half-hearted. I was in my old room, the blade going too deep into my arm. I felt the chill go through my spine and I thought "this is it". I lived through that night. How? I don't know, but I am glad I did. But my battle with depression and self-harm would follow me into my freshman year of college. The last time I ever self-harmed was in the winter of 2017. I flew into a breakdown. I don't even remember everything that happened. I just remember blinking and blood pooling on the bathroom floor. I broke. I had over 20 penetrating lacerations on both thighs, spanning from hip to mid-thigh. I couldn't stop it. I ended up calling my boyfriend who was able to calm me down and telling me how to bandage my legs. It took over an hour to stop the bleeding and clean up the mess that I had made. Those cuts would turn into scars. Those scars would serve as a reminder that I am a survivor.

Scars tell a story. Whether heroic, accidental, or from something you could not control. Do not think that because you are scarred, or still struggle that you have failed. YOU are strong. YOU are beautiful. There is nothing ugly, disgusting or unattractive about you. NEVER think that. Once I started to believe in myself, I began to regain my ability to be passionate, to be loving, to be compassionate to myself. Most of all, I learned to forgive myself. If you struggled with any of these issues that I've mentioned, please comment the word STRONGER in the comments below. If you are still struggling with this, please understand that you are loved. You may not believe it, but you are! If you need to talk to a professional, text HOME to 741741. This is the American Crisis hotline. Know that this isn't the end. You were made for so much more than you ever imagine. YOU are loved.