Most of my childhood was spent in large waves of confusion, with little blips of clearness that never stuck around long enough to allow me to see exactly what was happening. When I was able to think clearly, it was biased by whatever emotion took hold of me on that day. To my parents, that emotion seemed to always be angry. In my own world, that emotion could be anything; sometimes it was anger or even happiness. but the worst was the dissociative episodes. I would be so aware of my existence and its worthlessness, but I didn’t feel real. I was desperately trying to understand what was wrong with me. I had no feeling during these episodes, yet I felt so terrible. To the outside world, I appeared to lack empathy, but inside, I was just completely numb to everything but the pain, yearning to feel. Honestly, I didn't care what I felt, good or bad, I just wanted to feel something, anything.

Around age twelve I gave up one waiting for the numbness to pass. I needed to feel. I needed to know was alive and my heartbeat wasn’t convincing enough.

I broke.

I cut.

I felt something.

From that day forward I had a release. I had something to come back to. Something that wouldn’t change or lie or deceive me.

It grounded me.

It kept me rooted in reality- as distorted and twisted that reality was.

At thirteen my mother once caught a glimpse of scars on my legs. She offered no support or help. Instead, she became enraged.

“If you ever do that again, I’ll beat the shit out of you”

I really wonder what her thought process was, why she thought that reaction was appropriate, but I never really get answers. Regardless of her words I continued to self harm.

I still do. It’s a release and I need it or else I can’t deal with the world and if you question me about it I’ll get defensive but I know, I truly know, that this isn’t healthy. It’s not always going to work but it works for now.

Middle school, as it is with most people, was hell. I felt like I was tossed in a blender set on high. My grades were terrible, and yet my teachers always told my parents about my potential.

“If only she applied herself in these subjects- she could do really well,”

If only.

I did find myself a group of friends though. I don't remember their names or what classes we shared or the conversations we had but I know they were pleasant. Or I think they were. Or  I hope they were. I don't know. Everything gets really fuzzy sometimes. It’s one of the downsides of always hanging on the edge- always just barely holding on to a sliver of what you think is the reality- part of seeing such a narrow view is that after a while, you think you see the world more clearly than others. You get familiar with your small little world and forget your little world is a box that you’ve locked the door on. And then you peek outside and everything you thought you knew becomes a blurry mess.

Oh, yeah.

Middle school.

Friends.

My group of friends consisted of at least 3 kids who regularly were sent to the counseling office weekly by someone who caught a glance of their arms and another 3 who should have been sent down. Several times a teacher would stop at our table and explain that hurting ourselves was not an effective way of dealing with pain but their words fell on deaf ears.  Self harm was a way to escape the cycle of thoughts, bring us back down, find something to hold on to. For some of us, it still is.

As I switched schools once more, I told myself that this highschool, Pennfield, was where I was going to stay. I’d long since grown tired of never having any constants, regardless of how scared of them I was. All i’d known was abrupt change. My mind still jumps back and forth constantly, but my outside world no longer reflects that. I go to school, I follow a schedule. I know the names of the people I pass and the names of my teachers. I’m still a fumbling ball of anxiety though, and I’ve come to accept it. I know ways to deal with the need for a release and though I still break, its’ less frequent now. I have planted my feet into the ground and rooted myself here. I am a tree who withstands the wind. Mostly. A few branches may bend and break but myself as a whole will remain. I will heal and grow anew.