Cutting: Letter to Myself
By Gia, age 18, Florida
Sweet Designs Staff Intern
Sweet Designs Featured Writer
Disappointment is a hard word to crack. Especially to someone like me. I wish everyone would understand what it's like to have a disease. Yes, I may not have been born with in it in my genes, but it's still inside.
For the first time, after relapsing numerous times before, something inside has changed. That rush, that urge to cut after that first one, never came. As I watched the blood come through the slice I made on my upper right thigh, I remembered something ... the boy who loves every part of this person. Cutting is a selfish act; one tat took over my life for too many years. The scar is this pink color now; I won't look at it for too long.
We've gone though this song and dance too many times before. I can't sacrifice my relationship, my health, and who I'm becoming because of this monster. Yes, I become a monster. For the first time, after I cut, I wrote. None of it makes sense, but I did.
I need to find a better release. Something positive. It doesn't matter how many people wish you get better or want you to fight the voice in your head - it's you. You are letting those voices take over your life, making you a slave to an inanimate object.
I may not ever get over this disease, and I've accepted that. Cutting won't define me anymore. Will I relapse again? I may, but I'm going to try like hell not to. This time I've got my heart to lose.
I'm not disappointed in what happened because when the tension become too much, it's bound to manifest into something. But no more negativity. I love me and everything I've had happen and will happen. It's time to say goodbye to the monster for good.