Confession of a Cutter

One of the things that has gone along with being Bordeline is self-injury. For me it is cutting. Cutting has been my secret shame for many years. It is the reason I often wore long sleeves in hot weather, the reason I learned first aid and the reason I now share my experiences whenever I can. This is something I wrote a few days ago and I thought I'd put in here.

"Sometimes You Just Gotta Wonder if It's Worth It."

"At least when you cut there's immediate release. The skin opens, the blood flows, and the endorphins hit. You see the layers of flesh and know it is graphically real. The blood flows in real time and the drops splatter on the white floor. But then you realize cutting isn't the answer.

It used to be easy to deal with. Just clean it up and say a cat scratched you. The cuts weren't deep, but there were sometimes a lot of them. So you stopped cutting for a long time. But when you did cut again, for whatever reason, the cuts were deeper.

At first you cut unevenly, layer by layer. It was like a paper shredder effect. Then it became easier to press harder and drag the blade slowly across your flesh. The first time you cut deep enough to scare you, you ended up in the State Mental Hospital. Then you did the unimaginable.

You cut in front of someone. It almost felt unreal. And the last time was the deepest. Each cut was deeper leaving a more grotesque scar. If you continue to cut, you may accidentally kill yourself.

You don't cut for death. You cut for release, to feel something other than the numbness of depression, to feel the rush of endorphins, to see what happens. But one time you may find a release like no other, one that you cannot reflect on. One time you will cut too deep and be dead."

This thing I wrote the other night was just a random thought pattern that came into my head. One of the many deep and sometimes morbid things I think about. These are things I rarely share with others. It tends to scare them and make them think of me differently.

The strange thinking or feelings are the curse of my existence. It is what has made it so hard for my family and closest friends to understand what I am trying to communicate. It is what has caused me to feel isolated though I'm in the center of a crowd.

I have struggled with feeling out of place or "out of time" like I was born for the wrong generation or living in the wrong life. It has been this way all my life. It is this, that at first made me so interested in science, then in becoming a nun and, later on, what turned me to the occult.