I just saw an anti-meth commercial, and something with the way this guy looked as he did math resonated with me. I know he's an actor, and I don't mrean that he made meth look awesome. It just made me think of when I was addicted, and by the way that is crazy for me to think about. I'm not yet 16 and for actually a pretty long time I had a pretty strong addiction. I started cutting, honestly because it seemed interesting and stylish and dramatic, and it could make me happier than I was so why not? I was also pretty angsty so it fit with the whole thing there. I've never said it that way before, but it's true. I used to pretend that cutting for me was about desperation but it honestly just appealed to me. I got desperate quite a while later. I cut on and off for a while. Maybe a year or two. You know, I had stopped cutting for a couple of months and then talking to a friend about it, I know this is awful but I loved that he cared about me so I said I was cutting at the time, which I wasn't, but I started back promptly after that. It was interesting because it was something I'd been denying myself but not something I'd been craving. The problem with starting back up is, it wasn't the same. It didn't feel as good. The second day I ever cut, I cut all over my leg, I cut a few places deep as I could, I was experimenting, and I ended up pretty euphoric. I used to press so hard on my arm trying to make myself really bleed. I'm not sure what's the deal with my body like that but there have been probably less than 5 cuts I gave myself that had droplets of blood involved. I wouldn't bleed like that. They were pretty deep but there were rarely blood droplets. It was pretty strange. Anyway, when I started back up it didn't feel as good, so I did more. A few months after starting back up, I went on a youth trip. The day before I nicked a scalpel from a dissection kit I had around. I put a sterile blade on the handle and kept it in my purse. I put it even in my carry on bag when I left on the trip. The second night in Glenwood, I showed my boyfriend my arm. There were probably around 60 cuts on it, just from the past couple of days. I used to have a picture but it's gone with my old hard drive and I wish I still had it, just for reference. It didn't seem odd to me at the time, maybe because I was so used to being cut up, but L got his brother J to come and look and he seemed pretty stunned, which tipped me off to it being a bit excessive. I remember I was super panicked about swimming the next day. T said it would be fine to swim in just a regular swimsuit because cutting didn't have a handle on me, but at the time it definitely did, and I didn't want to talk about it. I had one of T(another T. Sister of the first T)'s long sleeved t-shirts on over a 2 piece swim suit that had long swim trunks at the bottom. I looked as if i'd been blindsided by the trip to the hot springs and decided to swim in my clothes. I think it was shortly after I got home that I started burning. I took a match, lit it, let it burn for a few seconds, blew it out and pressed into my arm until it stopped hurting. This is the thing the meth commercial made me think of. His breathing, his faces. I would grit my teeth while it hurt and almost scream and almost cry because the pain was ridiculous, and right as it got unbearable it would stop and I would feel this incredible feeling wash over my brain. I use wash because for some reason it really felt like a gentle wave. The burns would blister and be yellow or brown which rather confused me. I still have a crapload of scars on my left arm, the most prominent is from burning, right at my wrist. It's a real conversation starter. People wonder what the hell kind of bug bit me. I have a less obvious burn on the back of my left hand. It's a red mark while the one on my wrist still looks quite a bit like a blister. I have about 6 burn scars on my left and one or 2 on my right arm that are really apparent, and if you look for a while you'll see a lot more. I also have a bunch of cut scars that are pretty out there, but people rarely ask. I wonder if they even notice. I thought it was crazy in Ohio how comfortable I was telling N how I used to cut. I think D being so upfront helped me feel supported.
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