I cut myself for the first time today and I feel worse

I’m up at 5 am writing this because I can’t sleep and anxiety is keeping me up. I’m a 17 year old girl and cut myself with a blade for the first time today. I have cut myself with scissors a few times, but I’ve been having a particularly rough time and couldn’t resist the urges. I went to my friend’s house bc I’d been laying in bed all day doing nothing and was feeling quite depressed. When I went to her house, she was building a model house which required the use of an exacto knife. Now before this, things had been getting better with my mental health and I hadn’t SH’d in about a year, but when she left the room I decided to try it for real. I took her knife and ran it across my ankle and wrist. I’d been so scared to use a real knife until that moment, but I felt so much relief. That is until rn. I feel even worse and can’t stop worrying about the scars I might end up with. I feel terrible for damaging my body but I feel like that’s the only way to cope atm.

Even though this was the first time I’d cut with an actual knife, I’ve been self harming since I was little. It started when I broke my elbow around age 6. After that, I became obsessed with casts and wanted to get more, so what other way to do that than to break my own bones. I ended up with about 7 casts after that point; almost all injuries self-inflicted. However, through the processing of self-injury my motives changed and I no longer wanted it for show, but was craving the pain and rush it gave me. After that, I started hitting myself on multiple occasions inflicting grapefruit-sized bruises on my body. I also started punching walls and may have done some damage to my knuckles as they would swell up to the size of golf balls. I also pick my skin and rip off my pinky toenails till they bleed.

I know it sounds like a lot, but I feel like I’m not doing enough and I deserve worse. I’m so ashamed of my actions and that I can never take them back, as the scars are a reminder of those mistakes. That’s why I would bruise myself and break my bones; because it wouldn’t leave a scar. I just reached the point where it was too much effort for the results I wanted, and cutting was just an easier alternative (although it leaves a permanent reminder).

I don’t want any sympathy from this, but some reassurance would be appreciated. I’m seeing a therapist every couple weeks and I had been doing “fine” but have not yet reached the point of mental stability i had before. I’ve never felt the same as I did before junior year, and I miss feeling ok.

__________

Day 1 Update After My Therapist Died

Today was hard. I am on the roller coast of grief (it is not a cycle). I’ve fluctuated between periods of painful depression and denial mostly. When I haven’t been weeping or managing to distract myself, it has just felt incredibly surreal. I want to wake up from a bad dream or find out this is some horrible joke or mistake. A few times I have slipped away into mild dissociation. I’ve only experienced the deaths of my grandparents, which were expected when they happened. I’ve nearly lost my sister to suicide a few times but so gratefully it was not successful and she was able to recover. I’ve experienced a lot of grief over the past few years from debilitating accidents that have taken a lot of my previous life away, but I’ve never felt grief like this. I have tried to stay away from bargaining because I know there is nothing I can do, but I honestly wish I could.

I listened to the mindfulness meditations he made me today. I didn’t think I’d be able to so soon, and at first it was really painful, but then it felt very soothing to hear his voice again. I found out he had a professional social media account from his website and I scrolled through his posts. I learned he had a hedgehog named Garnet and he painted to express his inner turmoil. He had some really tough childhood traumas that he mentioned too. He was dedicated to learning as much as he could about trauma so he could help others. It really reaffirmed what a truly good human being he was.

I bought a tiny sand-filled octopus toy from the store near by. Maybe you remember the sand filled lizards and frogs toys from the 90s? It’s one of those. It reminds me of my little self, which my therapist taught me to love and embrace and care for. The octopus toy feels soothing to hold. The fabric is silky with rainbow colours and metallic spots. The tentacles fit nicely amongst my fingers to fidget with and keep my hands busy. I named him after my therapist. In the moments when it feels so surreal, the octopus reminds me of the reality. It hurts, it truly does, but it is keeping me grounded in the real world.