Overcoming My Own Addiction

Every single human is addicted to something, whether it is facebook, drugs or anything else in the world. We are human, it is part of who we are. I myself am overcoming my very own addiction. The addiction I am overcoming is the addiction to self mutilation (or as people most commonly know it, cutting.) When most people think about cutting they think about a phase that a rebellious teenager may go through. Well for some people that may be the case it is definitely not for me. I have been a cutter since the age of 14 which equals out to about 5 years. There were many different circumstances that led me to try this method of making myself feel something. You see, I had been numb for such a long time that all I really wanted was to make sure I was really still alive. For the longest time I was frustrated because I couldn't cut deep enough to actually bleed. Part of that was because I was scared but the other part of it was that I was using staples because I did not want my parents to find out. I was always very sanitary about it, never wanting to get an infection and have to explain why I was doing this. Then, one day, I decided I needed help. I went to my school counselor and she called my parents and made them take me to the emergency room. The nurses laughed at me and told me I was doing it wrong and that if I kept doing it the way I was doing it I would never end up killing myself. This hurt, but I was also glad because my intention was never to kill myself, I just wanted to feel pain to assure me I was still alive. The doctor then sent me to a mental hospital called Harbor Oaks. I was only there overnight because I convinced them that I was fine and wouldn't ever do it again. Now I was back in the real world, and it sucked. The worse it got the more I cut. I moved up from staples to box cutters. My step-father installed carpet for a living at that point in time so they were very easy to get. I finally cut deep enough to actually bleed, and at that point I know I was not going to be able to stop. Long sleeves and bracelets became my best friends, I retreated from the world scared someone would find out, and soon enough they did. I was sent back to the emergency room and this time they sent me to Havenwyck, another mental hospital. I was there for a while because they were not quite as easy to convince. Once I got out my dad checked my arms all the time...I tried cutting my legs but that wasn't nearly as satisfying. Then he kicked me out and I was free from the arm checking and I could cut wherever I wanted again. I cut all over my arms reopening old scars if I had to I just wanted to bleed. Then after a while I got better I went three months without cutting, but after those three months and just before I left to go to college, I freaked out cut my arms up so bad there wasn't a place that wasn't covered in blood it was dripping to the carpet, but I didn't care. Something had taken over me and controlled everything I was and the only way to stop it was to bleed. Finally whatever it was that had taken control of me let me go and I sat there staring at the bloody mess that had become my arms. I covered them in towels and went to shower I needed to feel clean again. After I got out of the shower I was sent to see my counselor and she had me sent back to the emergency room. The emergency room sent me home and I thought all was good, but the next day they took me back and the doctor sent me back to Havenwyck. I was there for 14 days this time, and it was the longest 14 days of my life. I tried my hardest to convince them I was okay but all they did was give me 4 or 5 different medications to take every single day and send me back to my room. I refused to go to group or anything and that just made them keep me longer. I talked to a bunch of people while I was there and some of them even came to visit me. Pastor Jason (my youth pastor) even came to visit me and bring me a Bible. It meant the world to me that he cared enough to come see me when I was completely broken. I could not put on my mask anymore, the drugs they had me on made that too difficult, I was so tired all the time. I felt like they had me constantly sedated. I talked to PJ for a while and it helped a lot. I was out of there a few days later and I knew I would fall back into it. As soon as I went to school I fell back into hurting myself, never as bad as I did before, but enough to bleed. I got sick of it, bored with it. I no longer needed to know I was alive and could feel pain. but I couldn't stop. I needed to see myself bleed. And now here I am about to start my second year of college, and thinking back to a year ago when I was last in the hospital. I am 19 years old now and I am going to school to double major in youth and family ministry and psychology. I want to be a youth pastor, to help teens see God, to help them know that they are never alone. No one is ever alone. I have been clean for almost 13 days. The thing that makes this time different is that I have a support system. My name is Kiah Marie Zabel and I used to be a cutter.