"Now that I'm clean I'm never gonna risk it..."

These are the words that I never thought I'd be able to say. I never thought that I would feel the satisfaction that comes along with finally getting clean.

157,680,000 seconds. That's how long it's been since the last time that I harmed myself. Each second as hard as the last. Half of a decade. 5 years.

Every year on October 30 I am eager to celebrate my anniversary of the last time that I ever cut myself. The day when I promised that it would be the last time that I ever cut myself. I often think of October 30th as my true birthday... it's the day where I started actually living.

I spent so much of my young life "living" as a slave to my demons. I vividly remember the first time that I harmed myself. I was 13. I honestly didn't know why I was doing what I was, but I knew that it felt good. It felt good in the sense that it made me forget the pain that I was feeling on the inside, and instead made me focus on physical pain. More importantly, it made me feel something when I was so used to being numb.

I wish that it would have stopped when I was 13. Unfortunately, I carried this burden with me for a little over a year after my first encounter with it. It became a crutch in my life; a way for me to avoid having to actually deal with the problems that I was facing. I kept things to myself and would go weeks without relapsing, only to eventually give in again and then spend months taking the guilt that I felt out on myself. Self harm is a tricky thing: you know what you're doing is wrong, but you can't bring yourself to stop doing it.

There are no words that can accurately explain what it was like on October 30, 2012 when I took the blade to my own wrist for the very last time. I will never forget myself sitting on my bathroom floor, gasping for air as I held my wrist which was stinging almost as much as my tears that were running down my face. That was the first time I ever felt complete shame over what I was doing to myself.

I washed the blood off my arm and wrote "I promise" over the scars that were beginning to form. I promised that I would never have to deal with the embarrassment of constantly tugging at my sleeves ever again. I promised myself that I would never have to be conscious of the way that I moved my arm to make sure that my wrist would never be in plain sight. I promised myself that from that day forward I was going to work every single day to get better.

And it was true. I literally have had to work every single day. Recovery is hard. I would be lying if I sat here and said that there haven't been days where I've wanted to relapse more than anything else in the world. Some days are harder than others. Even 5 years later, I still struggle. That's why even though 5 years may be a long time, I still choose to celebrate my recovery and the fact that I've stayed clean for so long. Every day is a personal battle, and every day that I stay clean is a day worthy of celebrating. Self harm is an addiction. This is something that I am going to be battling for the rest of my life.

But I will say this: recovery is so worth it. The past 5 years of my life have been the most rewarding years that I will probably ever have. I have seen myself grow and overcome barriers that at one time seemed so impossible. I am no longer living in sadness. I am no longer living with the fear that my sleeve will roll up and my deepest secret will be exposed.

Instead, I am choosing to be open about what I once so ashamed to be suffering with. I have to talk about it because I know that there is somebody out there who needs to hear it. I know that I needed to hear it when I was going through it. And if that person's you: hold on, and believe me when I say that it is going to get better.

Here's to my fifth year living in freedom... and to many, many more.