I’d like to precede this by saying this is one of the rawest and most real things I‘ve ever written. This is also the first time I have addressed self-harm as an issue I myself have faced and overcome, and I realize this may be very difficult to read. Although, as someone who struggled with and has beaten this addiction, I feel I can now talk more freely about it and hopefully show others that they’re not alone. I believe it is important to recognize stigmas associated with self-harm and raise awareness to a problem people struggle with daily. So here is what the media doesn’t tell you about self.
Although not always, often times the media portrays self-harm using females. Specifically, adolescent females. She usually is a pretty girl, but perhaps she doesn’t feel that she fits in or has trouble is social situations. Nowadays especially, she probably runs a blog and listens to alternative music that no one else can relate to the way she does. More times than not, her life changes because of a boy. Mr. Wonderful sweeps in and he understands her. He is the one person who sees her for who she is and loves her regardless of her scarred wrists and past. They connect deeply, and by the end of it, true love trumps all and the girl is finally free of her addiction. Everyone lives happily ever after, right?
But here’s what the media doesn’t tell you about self-harm. Self-harm can affect anyone; every gender and every age. Those who struggle with self-harm aren’t always these misunderstood outcasts that society seems to think. In fact, they’re usually those we would least expect it from. The cheerleading captain who seems to have everything going for her goes home and slices her skin. That guy in your math class who is unbelievably intelligent burns himself and can’t see the worth others see in him. Self-harm is not predictable. And it’s not beautiful.
The media has romanticized self-harm so that now it’s almost poetic, the thought of being so broken and having someone sweep in and save you. But people cannot save you. You cannot depend on another person to fix you, you have to want to fix yourself. Self-harm is an addiction, a very real addiction. It’s the disgust you feel in the pit of your stomach every time you relapse, the sense of worthlessness that precedes the act and somehow lingers after the temporary relief. Self-harm is discomfort. It’s the way you decline going to the pool with friends or changing in front of others to avoid someone seeing physical proof of your internal struggle. It’s that boy kissing down your neck and tugging at your clothes, only for you to insist that he turns the lights off so he won’t think your body is gross. It’s the feeling of betrayal when your friends still jokingly say something makes them want to “slit their wrists” when they know you’ve been covered in your own blood sobbing on the bathroom floor while he tried to kick in the door to make sure you were not killing yourself. It hurts those you love the same way it hurts you. And it’s everywhere. No matter how long you’ve been clean it lingers in the back of your mind, pleading to feel the fleeting release it brings one last time. It is your significant other catching you in the act and crying because he can’t understand why you’re not happy. Why he isn’t enough for you. You want to plead to him you are, you are enough.
It’s me. I am not enough.
Self-harm is many things.
But self-harm is not beautiful.
Stop portraying it that way.
