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I’d like to talk about cutting. It’s a subject I’ve much experience with. After a very bad point in my life I resorted to cutting in order to feel something, anything. The events I suffered were beyond bad and at a very young age and I was ill equipped to handle these emotions. I shutdown inside and to this day don’t think I’ve opened everything back up. I still feel vulnerable and helpless to change things. In the struggle to learn to cope I cut.

I’ve stopped at times only to fall backward and screw up again. Each time I cut it’s a new lessons for me. These lessons become etched upon my flesh and the name of this article is “lessons” as well as the poem below.

The impact of my cutting has run deep in my family. I’ve hidden my arms, legs and when my parents got wise to that, my stomach, sides, breasts. The process is addicting and in some ways is a release for me. It’s dangerous and those who care for me disapprove but yet they are on the outside and looking in. Cutting is my way to express power and feel in a world shattered and riddled with pain. A world they couldn’t understand even those who have been with me during my darkest hours. My mind was shattered and to this day remains scattered and in great need.

I feel very little and when I cut it’s like I’m alive for the first time in a long time. I feel in control. I for a brief moment am free to feel and with blood the demons inside are free for a while at least.

I’ve denied being a cutter to the world as much because it’s personal to me and I don’t want to share my release. My feelings not yours and you aren’t allowed to take from me something so personal. But it’s also an embarrassment that yes I’m that desperate to feel, I’m that broken!

I am not justifying my action or my addiction. I’m merely expressing why I started and why it’s so hard to stop. It’s a desperate mind that must have pain to feel or be reminded it yet lives. I struggle daily with why I yet live when for a long time I wanted to die. I still often feel unworthy to live and like no one would miss me if I stopped living. Yet I know by those who are hurt by my cutting that this is not true at all. But still I struggle.

I’ve learned one thing from cutting. Cutting hurts those who love you more than you will ever know. Each cut reminds you of lessons and those who love you are reminded of how helpless they are to stop your suffering. That helplessness has to be the worst feeling I can imagine and it’s why I struggle to stop this addiction. It’s why I struggle to feel more than pain of the world around me. It’s why I will not end my struggle until death takes my breath and calls me home.

If you are struggling with cutting to feel please get help and try and stop. If you are one of the helpless looking in don’t give up on those you love. It can be beaten in time. You and your loved ones will have setbacks but they are just that a temporary setback. Give those who suffer your love and if you must hold them or shout your love, do what must be done. Remember pain is a powerful teacher but so is love and perhaps real love is the key to ending the lessons etched upon the flesh.

 

Lessons,

 

Lessons etched upon my flesh, feelings deep within.
For days and months and years have past.
Yet every ones still real; pain is all I feel.

We struggle to relieve ourselves our outward face of stone.
Yet always in the dark we find, we face ourselves alone.

Lessons etched upon my flesh, remind me of days long past.
For days, months and years gone by on feelings buried deep.
Yet today I feel the pain and my tears fall like rain,

I struggle to relieve myself while others cannot share.
To etch a lesson upon the flesh I do not want nor dare.

Lesson etched upon my flesh when pain is all I feel.
Silently I cry for help my injuries unseen.
I stand once more on broken heel yet pain is still real.

I struggle now to find myself inside a shatter mind.
To etch a lesson upon my flesh I seek no more in kind.

Lessons etched upon my flesh many by my hand.
Desperate cries to those who see but hidden from their sight.
We fool ourselves with a moment real; merely so I feel.

They are lessons etched upon my flesh, none of them more real.
Lesson etched upon my flesh hidden by cold steel.

-Taka Styles June 3, 2013