**Trigger Warning: This piece discusses the topic of self-harm in depth.**

I have struggled with depression since I was 13 years old, the initial cause being my daily migraines. I woke up one morning with a horrible headache in the early months of 2009, and it has never gone away. It has never gotten better, but instead, it has grown worse. My parents took me to numerous doctors in different fields. I was submitted to all kinds of tests, and none of them could find an answer. Living with constant pain caused me to become severely depressed — I stopped going to school, I gained a lot of weight and I shut everyone out. Luckily, I managed to finish the last few months of school and graduate from the eighth grade. Things were getting slightly better; I was still depressed, but come freshman year of high school I was actually attending school again, and I was seeing/interacting with my friends. But then my brother died in November of 2009. This was the beginning of my downward spiral, and it would only get worse.

The February after my brother died (so only three months later), I was admitted into the hospital for depression. I was there for five days before I was discharged into an outpatient program at a different hospital. I had practically missed the entirety of my freshman year of high school, but when I went back in April I, yet again, managed to complete all my work and receive the 90s on all of my finals. The next two years got a bit better — I lost some weight, I was engaging with my friends and passing all of my classes despite the constant pain of my headaches and the grief from losing my brother. Then the summer before my senior year of high school, everything changed.

The first time I self-harmed was August 2012. I remember this because the following day, my parents and I, along with a group of friends, had planned a big get-together to celebrate what would have been my brother’s 23rd birthday (his birthday was Aug. 3). The night before the party, I tried to hurt myself with my razor — I was trying to give myself a razor burn if that makes any sense. I didn’t succeed in actually harming myself, but I did scare myself. I immediately told my mom and, after talking with my dad, she told me it was OK and that they weren’t mad at me. I slept in between my parents that night. Looking back on this moment now, I think my parents were hoping it wasn’t going to happen again. I had been in an “OK” spot for quite some time, so I don’t think they expected me to try and hurt myself. I don’t blame them. I didn’t expect that of me either. I don’t think I can explain why I tried it. I don’t even fully remember picking up the razor blade. It’s still a bit of a blur to me.

The party for my brother happened. It was great, and everyone had fun. The day after the party, my parents and I headed up to our lake house in Massachusetts for the rest of the week. We couldn’t have been there for more than a few hours before I tried to hurt myself again. This time, though, I succeeded. Again, I went directly to my parents (why I didn’t go before I self-harmed, I don’t know), and before I knew it, I have hospitalized again. This time, I stayed for a week before I was discharged from an outpatient program again. From that summer day in 2012 up until today, I have struggled with self-harm.

I remember one day my mom asked me why I self-harmed. I told her I had heard other kids in the outpatient program talking about it, and, even though I knew it was unhealthy and dangerous, I thought, “If it helps someone else, maybe it will help me." At first, it didn’t. I didn’t receive any “rush” or “pleasure” from cutting myself. Unfortunately, that changed. I don’t exactly know when that change occurred, but at some point cutting, myself did start to help. It helped distract me from the pain caused by my headaches. Mostly, though, cutting was a way for me to make all the heartache, grief, loneliness and mental pain manifest itself in a physical manner. Cutting myself helped me release the internal suffering I was feeling. Sometimes self-harming can cause an endorphin rush, just like exercise. Eventually, I started to feel that rush. The rush took my mind off of a headache for a few moments, and it was almost a relief.

Just thinking about that and writing it down infuriates me. I know cutting is bad. I know it is not a healthy or safe coping skill. I know my parents were always there to listen to me. To help me. All of my friends were there to comfort and heal me. I know I had so many opportunities to reach out to my family and friends. I knew they would have been there for me in a second. But none of that mattered.

I was ashamed of myself. I felt weak because I had resorted to cutting myself instead of telling someone my feelings. I felt like a disappointment to my parents and friends. I still do sometimes. I feel like a disappointment to my dad because the last moment we shared together before he died included him seeing a fresh Band-Aid on my arm from a recent cut. This feeling of shame, of being a disappointment, causes a cycle. I feel sad and overwhelmed by grief or pain so I get an urge to cut. Then I feel ashamed because I have the urge to cut. I get mad at myself because of that urge, but I don’t want to tell my mom about it because I’m scared to disappoint her. So then I end up cutting because I realize I am a 21-year-old woman, and I still struggle with self-harm. Then after I hurt myself, I feel even more ashamed that I didn’t go to my mom, and I end up buying that feeling until it becomes too much to bear and the entire cycle starts over again.

I always felt like a burden if I told someone what went through my mind. Opening up has never been an easy task for me, but, through some miracle, I’ve finally allowed myself to open up to talk about these things, whether it’s with my therapist, my mom or my friends. And it’s helped me tremendously. The weight of the world that I’ve put on my own shoulders has begun to feel lighter. I’ve noticed that I’ve become happier and more optimistic.

Despite what I’ve just said about becoming happier and more optimistic, I still struggle with harming myself. The last time I cut myself was in February 2016; that’s only four months ago. I feel ashamed but somehow proud to say that is the longest I have gone without harming myself. Part of me is thrilled to have been strong enough to withstand the urge to cut myself, and trust me, there have been many moments where I wanted to. But the other part of me is ashamed because, in reality, four months isn’t really that long of a time. However, I am fighting every day to not succumb to any urges. I am distracting myself with the things that I love; I’ll read a book, watch a movie or a TV show, pet my animals and listen to music. And if it gets so overwhelming, I’ll reach out to my closest friends or my mom because, even though I always think they will, I know they will never judge me.

I’ll end this piece by saying that, although I struggle with being ashamed, I have learned to embrace my scars. I have a lot of them, and they are very visible on my arms. I hate them, but I have begun to accept them as a part of who I am. I don’t try to hide them anymore. I know people stare when they see them or they pity me or think less of me, but I have begun to see my scars as part of my growth throughout the last eight years of my life. I have been through so much — the torment of my headaches, the loss of my brother, suicidal moments, the death of my father — and I am finally able to recognize how strong I have become. Yes, I still struggle with cutting myself and yes, I still suffer from severe depression but I am still here. And I plan on staying here so I can continue learning how to accept myself…battle scars and all.