The kids on my bus are a cruel, but close, bunch. It’s like we’re all family – we have dibs on you, but if anyone else tries to take you, it’s on.
Recently, the topic of cutting came up on the route home. That’s always been a touchy subject, especially with high school kids; most of us know someone who cuts or has cut, and most of us have been depressed enough to think of suicide. But the opinions taken by those who participated in the discussion were completely biased – everyone who cuts seeks attention. Everyone who cuts is a stupid emo who should die, just because.
There I am, the senior on the bus, the one who rules the roost. I’m the big sister – I have no problem fighting the boys and screwing around with them, and I also have no problem calling the girls out. They don’t all have to like me, but they do respect me. I just shook my head at their little bubbles.
I used to cut.
I didn’t do it for the attention. Some people do. Some people like the feeling of power they get from those who care about them suddenly being worried sick about their well-being. Some people like the emotional high they get from causing others to fear for his or her life – I won’t pretend that there are people who take advantage of that. These are also the people who seem to be the most willing to shove it in the open. They’re the ones who will wave their arm around going, “I used to cut, see that scar, that’s from cutting, look at me, I cut!” Personally, I think that those people need to be smacked upside the head. Hard.
Of course, that’s not always the truth. Not everyone who talks about cutting is faking it. Some people believe that they will help themselves, and perhaps others, if they speak out about how they feel and react. I’m not implying they’re wrong in any way, but that’s not how I stopped – I just told myself that if I felt the urge to, I should. It wasn’t that I wanted to die, but that I wanted a release. It felt like something inside of me was building up too much pressure, and if I didn’t let it out some how, I’d burst… So I literally let it out.
Three is a magic number, however, so the final group will be those who won’t admit or tell anyone that he/she cuts. Perhaps they don’t think they have a problem, perhaps they’re ashamed, perhaps they just don’t want to worry anyone… Who knows? I never wanted to worry anyone. There were points where I just wanted to confess everything to my grandmother, but I knew it would kill her.
I don’t know why I actually wrote this blog. It was going to be a “just leave us alone until we ask” blog, but then I realized that that could actually do more harm than good. I guess the main point of this is to say that there are different personalities for different people, and as such, different reasons for the same action. Not all who cut are attention whores.
I apologize for any and all grammatical and spelling errors made, as it's 230AM and I'm tired.
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One of my closest friends, my little sister in fact, cuts. She does it for the release. We did not grow up in a very friendly environment. I dealt with it by going numb. She couldn't just go numb, but she also had to release it somehow. I stood by her every time to hold rags to make sure she didn't get any on her clothes. She appreciated my understanding of her needs, just as I appreciate the understanding she gave me all those years.
I know many people do not do it for attention. I never once thought they did. I usually didn't give them a second thought when they had briefly shown me scars, since I had seen it all before. I remembering wonder after one girl in our school didn't get the sympathy she so desired from me tried commiting suicide, if it was my fault for not caring the way she wanted me to. After many years, I realised that it wasn't me, but herself.
The sanity within is overwhelming.
I can't remember completely, but I I know that when I was in high school, there was a time when I had a knife and thought about giving my arm a little cut. I was fed up about my family situation or something and I was about to burst as well probably. I chickened out. Even though I thought feeling the physical pain would make me feel better, I still thought it was a bad idea. I never really found a good coping mechanism for overcoming my struggle surrounding my dysfunctional family. I got out when I was 18 and didn't look back for 5 years. I've only reconciled with my family in the last couple of months.
So, I guess my point is to say that I can understand a little why people cut and the reasons aren't always stupid.
www.progressiveu.org/blog/americangirlinchina
My sister cut, not me. I was too scared. I stood by her, but I'm like you. I couldn't dare to do it. Instead I buried myself in my work and never came up. I never looked back when I moved out until a few years ago. I've still not fully reconcilled with my family. I don't think I ever will.
The sanity within is overwhelming.
I think that, as people get older, they understand that cutting isn't always done to be "cool"... But right now, my friends are too caught up in their prejudices to comprehend that.
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http://progressiveu.org/062647-ohmigawd-did-you-hear
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