The Beautiful Pain

An essay on cutting, self harm, and depression that will be constantly updated


1. On motives

The why. The thing others don't seem to understand. Is he/she depressed? Suicidal? Is it school? Bullying? Depression? A breakup? The new trend?


That last one is particularly bad. Although I've heard of some people cutting to be "cool", or something of the sort, its never a first-hand experience, its always someone else saying it. One should never assume that someone else is doing something because its trendy, in vogue, since you—no matter how close you are to that other—feel what they feel. No two people cut for the same reason, and even, if someone actually did cut him or herself in order to attain popularity or acceptance, is it not the same thing as cutting to feel better, to get out of a hole? Maybe they just want to be accepted by a particular crowd, or try and understand their friends. You never know.


The possibility of depression is likely. You know, most teens have their system all jumbled up due to hormones and that kind of shit, but not all end up cutting. It poses an interesting question: Which teens are more likely to self harm, feel depressed or commit suicide? is it socioeconomic, peer related, or maybe just random coincidence? 


I wonder what parents think once they know their teen cuts, do they feel like they've failed as parents, is it their fault, should they focus more on their kid, observe who he hangs out with, censor what he hears, listens and watches? Must be a horrible experience, at least one I would't like to go by (I feel like the biggest hypocrite on earth right now). 


I myself had a negative view on cutting, not so long ago, but my opinions have changed. I suffer from a severe depression, and it has tormented me for several years. I've been close to suicide, but until a couple of weeks ago, I had never considered cutting. I'd already accepted that some people hurt themselves, but my decision was rash, just out of nowhere. I was doing homework in the dining room, at night, my parents were upstairs, and for a moment my eye stopped on a small box with a label "100 razors". I grabbed one, took it to my room, and cut for the first time. It didn't hurt as much as I expected it to, and actually got rid of my anxiety for a while. But, being me, I got anxious, this time over the fear of being caught. If any of you readers have read my blog entries here, you might now I've been caught, and it wasn't as  bad as I'd thought it would be. They think I'll stop, and my psychiatrist is sure i won't try and kill myself again, so they're not as worried as they should be.

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