the truth about self harm-email fwd

Discussion in 'Self Harm & Substance Abuse' started by justmeonlyme, Jan 19, 2010.

Thread Status:
Not open for further replies.
  1. justmeonlyme

    justmeonlyme Long Time SFer Staff Alumni

    ok so this is an email fwd i created feel free to send it out in the subject line put FW:the truth about self harm. i crated this in the hope to raise awerness for a growing issue. an issue that is close to my heart. thanks for your help :)

    the email:

    I sit in my room late at night,
    I hold the blade in my hand,
    Tears pouring down my face,
    Should i cut should i not,
    What has my life come to,
    Blade in my hand,
    Pain in my heart,
    How much longer will this pain go on,
    Every night this is what i go though,
    How did i get to this place,
    I once was happy,
    Now i am not,
    Why do i turn to this,
    Why did i make this my best friend,
    Why did i let it in,
    Someone please help,
    Im not sure how much more i can take,
    Every night i face the question,
    Should i cut,
    Should i not,
    Why is this happening,
    I just want to be free!!!
    (writen by a self injurer)

    self injury
    What pops into your head when i say that?
    Most of you you hear of self injury you eather think emo or attention seeker,
    but it is not always this way. Most self harmers are not emo or attention seekers.
    A lot of people think that self harmers are just teenage girls but it can be anyone - old young, male female it could be anyone!
    Another misconseption is that all people who self harm are suicdal - only about 50% of self harmers are suicdal

    Diffrent people self harm for diffrent reasons.
    People who self-injure usually are unable to cope with and successfully express their feelings.
    Many people who self-injure have a mental disorder, such as depression, bipolar disorder, or schizophrenia.
    A lot of self harmers have low self-esteem.
    After people begin to self-injure, they often continue the behavior in order to gain “relief” from their problems and feelings -- many people who self-injure say that it makes them feel better.

    Self injury is a lot more common than people think.
    One in every ten 15-16year olds self harm.
    Every 20mins a young person self injures as a way of coping.
    Every year, childline receives approximately 4,500 calls relating to self injury.

    There are alot of self injury jokes out there have you ever been around someone and heard "*insert name* looks depressed" then *insert name* is going all emo" then "*insert name* is gana go sit in the corrner and cut themself" then someone makes cutting actions and then everyone laughs.
    Imagine being a self harmer and hearing these jokes. No wonder so many people hide it for so long and never seek help.

    On the bottom of this is some stuff writen by self harmers i ask that you just take a moment to read it. And just think about how hard it can be for these people. Once you start self harming it can be very very had to stop. It becomes an adiction and takes a lot to stop.
    So if you know someone who self harms dont leave them to fight it on there own and don't let them push you away (they will try to). This is when they need you most and don't try and force them to stop. Dont make them promise not to do it again this will make things worse when they slip up they will feel really bad and then feel low and want to do it again. Just be there and support them.

    All i ask of you is that you read what these people have writen and then copy this whole mesage and fwd it to everyone on your contact list to show your surport for those who strugle with self harm.

    The three poems below where writen by Lydia Espley


    here i stand.
    left for dead
    i am nothing and you are everything
    raindrops bead from her glassy eyes.
    it tells why.
    she and i, we are marked.
    from not being right.
    looking right.
    speaking right.
    we cope
    because we are,


    look at me.
    i look ok enough
    i look happy
    sunshine personified
    too happy
    inside i am deformed,
    seething with pain.
    and all things wrong,
    black and useless.
    i don't show it.
    i cannot tell it with words.
    so meaningless.
    i show you
    with skin
    and bright red realisation.
    i am deformed,

    On cold ground

    here we lie.
    all the same
    in differences
    our hearts beat
    to the same rhythm
    us, together
    on cold ground
    we are all wounded
    we have all bled.
    we are all finished.
    we put this to bed.
    link icy hands
    on this cold ground
    put this down
    the demon is done.
    we will beat this.
    together, forever, over.
    on cold ground.

    Red ribbons.

    she unties her scarlet bows.
    the ribbons flutter to the ground
    her hair loose.
    she sobs as scarlet red ribbons,
    slide over cold tile floor.
    take flight,
    escape this peril.
    she cannot.
    the red ribbons are bound to her.
    wrist arm and leg.
    she is restrained
    and begs for these red ribbons,
    to be loosed
    and she, set free.

    Silver friend.

    oh, my silver friend.
    i hate you, i do
    the way you tear my soul.
    cast me asunder.
    only to call me back.
    with those words.
    and sweet reason.
    you call and you call
    i must answer,
    so i do.
    oh, my silver friend.
    what have you made me do?
    i desecrated it all.
    unjust, my silver friend.
    i don't want this.
    but you do.

    This was writen by a young girl called Rosie. She speaks with a great deal of honesty.

    She can’t tell you. How could she? You have your own problems, mountains higher than her molehills to climb. She wants so badly to scream, silence shattering primal screams and afterwards sob till she reaches exhaustion. She wants you to be there, to understand, to never leave and she knows this will never, can never happen. The moment of calm clarity after trigger and release told her that. She believes it now; everything makes perfect sense when no longer thrown between the extremes of optimism and pessimism. The perfect view of a cold world and a numbness to view it with. To accept it with. She should never have whispered bits of the truth and hoped you would hear it because now she doesn’t trust anyone. She laid herself bare and spilled secrets to you, now she spills blood because she failed you. Not good enough. On a bad day she hates herself for believing your lies. On a good day she feels guilty for burdening you with the knowledge of her own failings. It was too much for you to take and you, naturally, chose the happier path. A life lesson learned. Don’t think you were the only one who turned their back. It’s just that you were the one she cared about most. Please, just know that she is sorry. She has chosen to believe that you didn’t know how much your actions would affect her. None of this was your fault.

    She is 21, an adult, and there is nothing wrong with her life. With that first sharp sting all those years ago she began to destroy herself. Her decision, and one that cannot be taken back. It’s not worth seeking help for. You do not see this as a problem. To you it's a phase she will grow out of when she makes the effort. It’s been 4 long years now. In many ways it is not a problem for her either. Some days it comforts her in the depths of depression, some days it punishes her when reminded of past sins, sometimes the blood welling and falling, the wound healing even confirms to her that her body still works when her heart cannot feel. She is alive. Most of all, it allows her to confront life with a false face. She hurts herself before others seize the opportunity. It enables her to wrap herself in a calm numbness detached from the suffering life throws at her. Focusing on the pain she has caused herself instead of the emotional turmoil others are inflicting. Inside she smiles because she has a secret. Choosing to bleed gives her control. It works. And she has nothing to replace it with. Some emotions just cannot be expressed in any other way and yet the small scratch, the trickle of blood is never enough to compare with the hurt inside. The harder she falls, the further trapped she becomes. She knows she is addicted to this life of darkened sorrow, the wound in her flesh representing the gaping hole in her heart, in her soul. She doesn’t have control. Not really.

    She used to think she could tell you anything. Now she feels she can’t tell you at all. You chose not to see and she knows she has no right to inflict it on you. Fair. You tell her to pull herself together; she closes the wound. A temporary solution to a permanent problem, a vicious circle you see as black and white. She tries her best to do it for you and all that happens is that she fails. Every time you hurt her means another little line. Because of the situation you and her got tied up in she can never speak of the hurt. Never rant at anyone and vent the boiling mayhem of emotions. This is her way of expressing herself. Her only way. You have given up on her, gone back to nicer things, and she has given up on herself. She asks you for help without speaking the words but her plea is not heard and she dare not whisper louder, still unsure of the response. Remember when she carved ‘nothing’ into her arm and ‘fat’ into her thigh? You saw those cries and your silence confirmed their meaning. Since then you have not seen her distasteful artistry or the many newer additions to her skin. Perhaps you were repulsed by them. You never really went back, did you? She is a weak and empty person compared to your towering, confident strength. You deserve so much better than that pathetic excuse. You deserve not to know and so she doesn’t tell you any more. Doesn’t confide in you when in reality your presence and confidence is what she desperately wants. She feels weak and needy and hates this side of her. She cuts again. Did you even notice the girl you once knew disappearing from your life?

    Rejected and numb she reaches for the gleaming metal, conforms to social conventions by keeping reality hidden under sleeves and shadows, living a life that is not quite whole. So what? It’s not a problem. Some days, as she‘s drowning in the strong, destructive currents of her life choices she wants to scream for someone to help. Save her from herself. She knows she can’t voice this verbally. Silent tears and streams of blood will have to compensate. Other days she hates herself for being so needy. She feels trapped in this downward spiral and clutching desperately at the walls almost believes the voices of the few people she’s told - All you have to do is not cut. It’s easy. You’re causing a problem where there isn’t one. If you wanted to you could stop tomorrow. Just grow up! Yes, perhaps she can…it never lasts. A few days, a few weeks, even on occasions a few months. Sooner or later the call becomes too strong. The blades comfort her. They save her. They are friends who never let her down, never lie to her or betray her. They do not care about her failures. Above all, she needs them.

    You can hate her if you want. She hates herself most days. Hates the disappointment she’s become, hates the nothing that she is, hates the nowhere her life leads as far as she can see into the shadowed recesses of her future. She wants to find her place in life but knows she has travelled too far down the wrong path to turn back.

    There was a time she was so ready to sort herself out, had convinced herself that she needed to do this, was willing, if still terrified, to open up her shameful secrets to people with the power to offer help. She even tried once, only to be told she was an anomaly. She has some control and is old enough to know better, yet has been bleeding long enough to need this, to really need it. Desperately. Violently. Until it fulfils its purpose and the calm comes. She does not fit into nice boxes and is therefore unable to access help. Maybe, she feels, she does not deserve to stop? Maybe it would be easier, more socially acceptable, to put a stop to her life and end this charade. In the end, it is no ones problem but her own and in this guise she is of no use to anyone. She feels like the worthless piece of broken glass she spies on the pavement edge. Shattered. It will never be whole again. Throw it into the cold gutter and let it be casually crushed underfoot by passersby, each cocooned in their own world of perfect things. Let someone who needs it stoop down where she belongs to pick it up. To feel its usefulness lightly in her hand, as she strokes the contours mesmerised, empathising with this dirty, cracked fragment. Largely ignored by society, they are both broken and no longer have a place. Someone could pick them up, care for them, try to fix them and allow them to find a use again. Its what she desperately wants but they all know it’s not worth it. At least to each other they are useful. The two players in the destructive game of dark, bloody need. Etch it deep into the living memory, a red apology. A permanent reminder she will never be that perfect girl. The lines she wears are never worth seeking help for, never deep enough to be damaging. Even with the sharp tang of the makeshift blade, or the deeper and more disturbing work of her steel tools she can’t even do that right. Somehow they seem hopelessly inadequate to compensate for all her failures. The blades, stained like the skin they cut, are now too blunt. It’s obviously not a problem. And the scary thing is, maybe you’re right
  2. sd-239192

    sd-239192 Well-Known Member

    this hits home... i know how the feels... i suppose all those who turn to steel have a similar experience once they try to tell others... thank you for writing this
  3. Scully

    Scully Well-Known Member

    It's moving. Thanks for sharing this.
  4. cownes

    cownes Well-Known Member

    very good, thanks for sharing this with us :hug:
Thread Status:
Not open for further replies.