God it feels like forever now. Four years and it feels like i started so much longer ago. In 2011 I lost a very important person in my life. He was my uncle. After his death it seemed like my life spiraled out of control. I was 12 years old and I started to loose interest in everything. I would go home on a friday and instead of going back out and hanging out with my friend i would sit alone in my room, listening to piano music and crying. My parents stopped trying to ask what was wrong because i didn't even know at that point. I was just so lost in the pain i felt from loosing Andy and then all the stress of school and just trying to be that perfect kid that everyone dreams of being. One night i was taking a shower and while I was shaving i accidentally cut myself. For some odd reason it felt good. So I did it again. And again, and again. for some reason the pain of the blade on my own skin almost made it seem like the pain i felt in my mind was gone. When i first started cutting myself it was never deep. Barely enough to leave a mark for more than a day or two. But that was still enough to be dangerous. I didn't cut every night at first. It was a once a week thing for a long time. But as i did it longer the more often and the deeper i needed to do it. Because those little scratches just were not good enough anymore. by the time cutting was an everyday thing i was 13 it was the beginning of my 8th grade year. I wouldn't wear short sleeves even if it was 100 degrees because my arms were a bundle of cuts. Shorts were a no go because my legs were coated too. And swimming? your funny. I was so scared about what people would think about me because of these cuts that lined my body. I would wake up in the morning and look at myself in the mirror and i hated who i was. In my mind i was just a fat, emo, stupid, waste of space. People had seen the cuts. they saw the scars but no one did anything. By the middle of my 8th grade year i wasn't eating. IF I ate i would go throw it up as quick as i could. I hated myself so much. When i though about who Chynna was, I didn't see a girl worth loving, I saw a waste of space. I was constantly screaming out for help. I was scared where this was going. Suicide became an every day thought for me. I must have rewrote that suicide note a million times. Then finally one December 29th 2012 i tried. I laid 36 cuts over each of my main arteries. I was one fourth inch off. i can remember the room beginning to spin. The dizziness starting to set in. It became hard to breath and my heart started beating slower and slower. I can remember reaching up to grab the box of tissue on my head board. It was quite honestly one of the scariest moments of my life. Death didn't feel good like I thought it would. Within the next few days I was going to be starting therapy and all this other stuff. My parents were paranoid and scared that i was going to try again. The fact that I had them so scared scared me. I was okay, for a few months. But soon the need to cut again became over whelming. I started thinks of places that would hurt but that my parents would never think to look. My feet. I had cuts and carvings and words all over my feet because it hurt the most and it was the easiest to hide. All my socks are black. And after so long of doing that I just stopped caring again. My arms soon because re-covered in the cuts that had almost killed me. My legs were no better.
As time went on I started using different ways of destroying myself. I would burn myself with lighters. I would go days with out eating and always be forcing myself to throw up. I started drinking straight vodka just because it burnt going down and it hurt twice as much coming back up. I started staying up all night and then go to school exhausted and hung over all because it hurt. it let me feel something. Later down the road my friends told me i needed help. I didn't except that at first. I though i was just fine. But i wasn't, I really did need that help. But it took me so long to realize. I had quite a few drug addictions an then on top of that my self harm didn't even go away. Finally, after months and months of being begged and begged I realized i needed that help. After i asked for it things did get better. I'm not going to sit here and say "oh i never will do it again" because that's a lie. There are still things i struggle with, I still relapse. But things got better. And i now believe i was kept alive through that so i could show people that hey, things get better. and that cutting is a solution that shouldn't be on the table.
As time went on I started using different ways of destroying myself. I would burn myself with lighters. I would go days with out eating and always be forcing myself to throw up. I started drinking straight vodka just because it burnt going down and it hurt twice as much coming back up. I started staying up all night and then go to school exhausted and hung over all because it hurt. it let me feel something. Later down the road my friends told me i needed help. I didn't except that at first. I though i was just fine. But i wasn't, I really did need that help. But it took me so long to realize. I had quite a few drug addictions an then on top of that my self harm didn't even go away. Finally, after months and months of being begged and begged I realized i needed that help. After i asked for it things did get better. I'm not going to sit here and say "oh i never will do it again" because that's a lie. There are still things i struggle with, I still relapse. But things got better. And i now believe i was kept alive through that so i could show people that hey, things get better. and that cutting is a solution that shouldn't be on the table.