Talking and moving past self-harm
Dad left when I was five, on my birthday, but that’s not the issue for this part of my story. As a kid we moved a lot, but when I was seven, life became more stable. We moved to a village in the middle of nowhere – me, my mom and my younger sister.
When I was 10, my mom met this bloke, Joe, and we moved in with him, in a whole new city. The last year of my primary school was there and it was great. There were so many different, vibrant personalities and I slowly came out of my shell.
In high school there were only a few times I would break, black out and just find that I had done something that scarred me. Something I wouldn’t do in a right frame of mind.
I was scared to tell my parents but then someone else found out and they helped for a while.
Talking to my parents
But then they left and around the same time I ended up self-harming. It was so bad that I couldn’t hide it and had to tell my mom and Joe.
They didn’t take it well – probably because my uncle had taken his own life the year before.
However, at the hospital I met this sweet doctor, who was an undergraduate, and he helped. He sat me down and gave me his number. He spoke to me like it wasn’t just made up and in my mind. He let me feel like it all mattered.
He’s so nice, and he helps. He keeps me upbeat and I just have to phone him if I need support. It’s been seven months and he still checks I am fine every single day.
With his help I can finally accept everything that is right and wrong with me. I know that what I did wasn’t right, but it is a part of my past. Those scars tell my story and I should never let myself fall that far again.