What I wouldn't give...

So, I was headed off to bed tonight when I got a frantic IM from one of my best friends that read, "should i kill myself? i think ill kill myself you can have my stuff." Seeing as how this is a friend that's normally upbeat and always makes me feel better I was more than a little concerned. I called him and talked him out of things, but it was a truly terrifying experience, and more than that it was my moment of self-realization.
I now know how much I hurt everyone when I was...well...being stupid for lack of a better word.
I'm not going to say I had the worst childhood in the world but it surely wasn't life with the Cleavers. Growing up with an alcoholic mother, raising your younger siblings while she got drunk and told you how much of a mistake you were isn't the life I had pictured. But, I found reprieve in the bottle...and then in pills...and then in a knife. By the time I was 12 I was drunk and high at least twice a month and I cut daily. Well of course the drugs and alcohol quit when I realized how stupid I was being, but the cutting was something I just couldn't give up. It had become a part of me.
Newsflash: PAIN IS ADDICTING!
And I was an addict. I would cut my arms and legs everyday with whatever sharp object was available. Funny story, no one ever noticed. Then I got to high school where I encountered other "cutters" and felt like I found where I fit. It only got worse, there would be times when I would have upwards of 200 slashes on my body. People began to notice and my parents eventually found out. They didn't really do anything about it except deny the problem. I stopped for about 2 weeks and then went back with a vengeance. I'm honestly surprised I didn't seriously hurt myself. On days that things went good I would find, invent, a reason to cut.
My junior year the proverbial shit hit the proverbial fan when my best friend came to me, tears in his eyes and asked me to please stop cutting. I mean he was my best friend, but I couldn't stop. It just wasn't that easy. More and more friends were begging me to stop, to get help and I couldn't hear them. Then someone (I to this day have no idea who) went to the school counselor. My parents of course got called in and well I was given the ultimatum of stop being self-destructive or go to an institution. So, I stopped...eventually.
I never realized how much these people cared about me and how much I hurt them by continuing this pattern of self hate. It never ceases to amaze me why they stuck things out with me and for me.
I'm happy to say it's been over a year since the last time I cut. Everyday is still an uphill battle, don't get me wrong. I literally just don't keep sharp objects around to eliminate the temptation. There are days that I plot out what would be the best way to die, but I know in my heart that tomorrow will be better (when you get so low things can only go up) so taking action against myself isn't even an option. On November 13th I'm taking part on the To Write Love On Her Arms awareness day. I urge you all to write the word "love" on your arms that day to raise suicide and depression awareness. It's a long journey, but I know that one day I'll get back on track.