It all started when I was about twelve years old. The first mark of something that would become a part of me forever, different pieces of my puzzle. I was raised in a good home, had a great, loving family. Only one member treated me like a stranger that spit in her face. She was my personal bully until I reached the age of sixteen. I was never allowed around her friends and was always blamed for things I never did. We constantly fought, we worried my parents and were told that one day we'd regret the things we did to each other. I hold what seems like a forever lasting grudge against her but there are many things she's taught me. One, my brother will always been known as my hero and she'll never reach that title. Two, always be kind to the people you hate the most, you'll just make them look like assholes when they react with hostility. Three, never talk back, you'll never win that fight with authority. Four, the word hate sticks in the back of your mind forever, especially when it comes from blood. I wouldn't necessarily say she made me the way I am, that'd give her too much credit for how well I turned out but she is one of the reasons why I went through a rough patch that I can't complete shake. I've struggled with self harm for five years now. I have so many scars, I've lost track of the exact amount. Some have faded but the ones with the most pain behind them still stain my skin like wine on a white shirt. I was always compared to her, was never really seen as my own self. "You think you'll live up to her reputation on this team?" "She always had a great spirit and kind heart, hopefully you can carry on her legacy." I was always asked questions from people who knew both of us, "how's she doing?" "Is she liking it over there?" "What's her plans when she comes home?" "I bet you're excited to see her again." No one ever asked how I was, they only care about the older ones, especially if they're out doing something "noble," I guess my service will always be overlooked but that's okay, I know what I've done, I don't need a pat on the back for common courtesy and good manners. Back to the self harm, she wasn't the only "influence," many others fed the developing addiction. Past boyfriends, fake friends, random assholes at school, my own abusive thoughts. Everything has built this steel trap in my mind, I paint the outside with pictures of good memories to try and disguise it for what it really is but I can't seem to keep myself from opening that door. I've had daydreams of slicing my legs as deep as I can just to watch the blood drip down my skin, oh how pretty is the color of pain. The intense rush you get with the hauntingly beautiful mutilation of the skin. I miss it... but I contain it as best I can, the newest coping mechanism I've developed is practicing my art on my skin instead. Draw with sharpies instead of blades, it's a temporary fix but it will never quench the hunger I long for. It's morbid I know but I can't help what others have made me into. If you understand what I mean, I'm glad I'm not alone and I hope you know you're not alone either. Learn from me and heal, you deserve it just as much as I do. You're important, you're special, and great things will come. Some words that have helped me are "you don't want to die, you just want to kill the life you have now, you want to be set free from the hell." Well you can and you will, death is never the answer, we all have difficult chapters in our books but if we turn that page and continue the story then we will finally reach the best parts of that book. You're strong and I believe in you. Take care of yourself. You're worth it.
