Secrets. There are so many secrets that people have. I don’t believe that anyone is completely honest, everyone has something to hide. I am tired of hiding. Tired of lying to people, trying to act like something I’m not. It look a long time to realize this, but I am awesome. I am amazing. I am unique. Weird. Quirky. I am me. I am who I am and no one is able to change that except for myself. I only hope that I grow stronger and wiser as I get older.
I have many, many secrets. One of which is that I used to hate myself. I was very cold inside, like my heart was frozen and I didn’t like people. Until I met Justin, it had been years since I had cried. I don’t know if anyone actually knew this or not. I didn’t tell anyone. I just kept it to myself. I believe that Justin and one or two of my friends actually know the truth. It isn’t something I find easy to talk about with people close to me. I am pretty sure I never told my family.
It is something incredibly difficult to bring up to family, the fact that you hate yourself enough to mutilate your own body. The body, the life, your parents gave you. I was going through a horrible depression. My dad and I didn’t exactly have the best relationship back then (we do now), my aunt had died right before I left for college, my sisters were both happily married and my friends were all happy at their colleges, and then my grandma died. I just felt incredibly alone and no one was to blame.
I felt dead inside, so I did things to help me feel alive. I used to cut myself, even though cutting isn’t the right term. I feel like it might be more like slice. I would dig the knife in deep to really feel the pain and then rip it through my flesh. After feeling the blood run down my arm or leg, I would hold the wound open and use a lot of hairspray in it to make the pain worse. Once it stopped bleeding I would usually rip it back open again. I never told anyone where the wounds came from, I lied. I fell. I scratched myself on something. I would tell them anything but the truth.
I never tried to kill myself. I never would have been able to do that to my family, plus I had dreams and dying wouldn’t have let them happen. Suicide is a scary word for people. It’s selfish. It’s stupid. It’s weak. Those words, and many more, are mostly used by people who don’t understand, who are ignorant of the pain depression brings to people. People who haven’t gone through that pain, that emptiness. Don’t judge someone when you don’t know what they have been, or are going through. Just as it takes bravery to live, it takes bravery to end it. I wouldn’t have been able to do it. My deep, deep, dark secret, what if I did, and no one cared? What if no one cared that I was gone?
Those thoughts are gone now. I no longer think like that. I would care. I want my life. My life is what I live for. I haven’t cut myself in over three years. I did this from the time I was 17 til I was 23. Getting it out in the open feels good. It’s a relief. It’s a secret that shouldn’t have to be a secret, and now it’s not. Now you know the truth. Now you know My Secret.
I am not ashamed though. I have scars on my leg that I have thought about covering up with tattoos, but I don’t think I ever will. They are a part of me, a part of my past, and they remind me of how strong I really am.
I Am Not Ashamed.