All Is Not What It Seems
Do you ever look at someone and you can instantly tell that they’ve been through more stuff than you can fathom? You want to be able to see what they’ve gone through just by one look, but you already know that will take weeks, if not months of getting to know them. Then there are some people who do wear their past on their arms.
I’m sure you’ve seen these people on the streets, or in the halls of your school. They wear sleeveless shirts only rarely, and are almost always wearing jackets. These people by scientific name are self-injurers, but to most of the population, they are known as cutters. They say the people who take the blade to their skin are suicidal, or are emo kids who try to fit into the fad of having hair in their face, black clothes, and who listen to heavy metal bands and who cut themselves. But you see stereotypes are nothing but the little groups that society puts you into. These people couldn’t be more wrong, people who cut don’t have to always wear black. Look around you. In ever classroom there is one person who has delved into the act of self-injury. They could be the ‘ghetto’ kid in the back of the room with pants to his knees, could be the ‘preppy’ girl in the middle of the room who always comes into class with a skirt on and always seems perfect, or it could always be the ‘nerd’ in the front of the room who always has their nose in a book. People who cut aren’t always suicidal either; they seek it out as more of a pain reliever than as an attempt at suicide.
I, myself, am a cutter. Five months on January 27th. Even though I haven’t done it for five months, and I’m never going to do it again, it’s a part of me, it’s a part of who I am. I have the scars to show the struggles I have gone through. They say that to be ‘emo’ you have to be depressed, but everyone gets depressed, just some people take it to the next level. I am one of them, I know it was a mistake, but I don’t regret it because it’s in the past and I’ve lived through it.
At first glance, you never would think that I was cutting up my arms every night or that I used to do it so badly that I would end up passing out on the floor of the bathroom. Some days I get really strong urges to dig the blades deep into my skin and slice my arm open, but then I think about how far I’ve come without doing it and I begin to wonder why I ever became involved in the practice of self mutilation and about how stupid I was for thinking it was a way out.
People judge people on their mistakes. We say we don’t, but we do. We try hard against it, but in the end, we all…every single person on the planet judge’s others on their mistakes whether they know it or not. I will always be judged by the scars on my arms and wrists, no matter how much I wish I wouldn’t…I always will.