They say that the first step to recovery is admitting that you have a problem. The trouble is, I don't know if I have a problem.
This is my story.
I've made some stupid mistakes, and they've haunted me. Last fall and the beginning of this year I struggled with depression. I felt like my world had completely fallen apart, and at times I wondered if I would even be able to make it another day. I lived in constant fear of what could happen if someone found out my secrets and realized that I wasn't the perfect girl who had it all together. I began to withdraw from society. I began to avoid my friends, and I brushed over any conversations with my family. I built so many walls up around myself, not wanting to interact with anyone for fear of getting hurt. I started getting no schoolwork done, and I would sit in front of my computer doing absolutely nothing for hours on end. I got less and less sleep as the weeks dragged on, and spent hours every night thinking of horrible things in my life that could go completely wrong. Music became my escape. I would sit at the piano playing for hours and hours with tears pouring down my face. When I played, all my worries seemed to go away and I felt like I became the music. Unfortunately, my parents told me that, because I wasn't getting homework done and fulfilling my responsibilities, I could only play my piano once everything I had to do was completed. I knew I needed another way to express myself, so I began writing. In it, I wrote many of my feelings, but not the essence of my pain, because I was always terrified that someone would find my notebooks.
The only other way of getting my hurt out that I could think of was through pain.
I knew that I couldn't cut, because someone would see it. I always wear short-sleeved shirts or push my long sleeves up, so I knew that someone would ask what was up if I suddenly wore sweatshirts/long-sleeved shirts all the time. I began hurting myself in other ways, since I though cutting wasn't an option.
I began biting the insides of my cheeks until they bled, pinching myself, and messing with cuts/scrapes/paper cuts I already had.
For the short moment I felt the physical pain, the pain inside of me would disapper.
Thankfully, I was saved by the grace of God. Only a short time after I started hurting myself (and I am SO thankful I never began seriously self-harming- I only did those small things 2-3 times) little things began happening in my life that I knew could only be coming from God. A friend randomly gave me a CD I had been looking at buying, but decided I didn't need since money is kinda tight for my family. As I was about to hurt myself, I heard a bird singing outside my window in the middle of January. The list could go on, and on, and on. You may call them coincidences, but I truly believe that God was quietly reminding me of His amazing love.
I am now in SUCH a better place. I am very happy, and spending time with encouraging friends (something I hadn't been doing before everything fell apart). I believe with my whole heart that my life is a gift that I am not worthy of, and I am living every day as if it could be my last. I do have struggles, but I know that Christ is with me every single step of the way.
Something that I have been wrestling with is if I need help (rehab, therapy, counseling, etc.) because I did harm myself. Even though I never became addicted to cutting (again, I am so grateful for that), you do have to be in a really bad place to even consider hurting your body. I am wondering if that is something I do need to tell someone, but I'm really afraid that they'll insist that I need to go to rehab or something. I do not believe I have to, since I'm not hurting myself, and I truly have no intention of doing it again.
P.S. If you read this entire thing, I love you :)