I am going to talk about things I don’t want to talk about.
It might get dark. It could get imperfect. It’s going to be rough.
I don’t want to do this. I’ve put it off for months. I get mad at myself for putting it off. I get anxious. Disappointed. And yet the whole time I’ve been telling myself “This is my dream. My website can’t help people if I don’t talk about this. This is my one passion in life: to really help people. This isn’t just some hobby I want to do on the side until I get bored and find something else. This is my ONE DREAM. This is the one thing that matters to me.”
I have been putting this blog post off long enough. Today is my day.
My name is Rebecca Marder, and I have a history of self-harm. It’s not easy for me to be open about my past and to make it so public. But I know that the more I talk about it, the easier it will be for other people to talk about it too. The more I talk about it, the easier it will be for people to relate to it and not feel so alone in their problems. The more I talk about it, the easier it will be for people to learn and support one another.
The more I talk, the more strength I have. I have been quiet for too long.
It started when I was quiet in my first relationship. I was 17 and was so happy to finally have a boyfriend. I thought it was serious, that we would date for years and years. Maybe one day we would get a house and a dog (It would be a cockapoo, just like the one his family had). I thought we could work through any problems we were having. Even from the beginning, I felt like I had already invested so much into the relationship that I couldn’t afford to lose it.
So after he sexually assaulted me on the first date, I forgave him. He said that he didn’t know what came over him; I was just so sexy that he couldn’t help himself. In fact, he explained that I was the one who invited him over when my parents weren’t home. I was the one who gave him the wrong message. It was my fault. Yes, it was my fault. I stayed quiet.
I stayed quiet for months, even after prom night, when he got on top of me and tried to have sex with me despite repeatedly saying “No” and pushing him away. The next day, trying to find solace in sobriety I asked, “Were you drunk?” as if him being drunk would have been an excuse. He said, “No” and that was all that was ever said about it. I continued to stay quiet.
And then a few weeks later, I got real quiet. I was in my room crying about my relationship. I felt so trapped. I loved him and I hated him. I hated myself for staying with him. I hated myself. I was worthless.
Worthlessness. That has always been the root of my self-harm. I would feel so valueless that I needed to punish myself. I needed to take it out on myself. It wasn’t just that I didn’t deserve happiness. I deserved pain. Without thinking, I grabbed a broken nail file that was on my nightstand. It wasn’t sharp enough to cut, but with enough pressure it could make a scratch and eventually break the skin. It would be enough to hurt myself. I made a few marks along my thighs. High enough that I could hide them if I wore a modest skirt or dress. Even in my emotional state, I knew that what I was doing was shameful. It was something I would need to hide. Self-harm is less often a cry for help, and more often a strategic internal war we wage against ourselves. And we always lose.
I felt terrible after the first time I self-harmed. I knew that what I did was a bad thing. I felt obligated to tell my boyfriend. Honest enough to tell him, not honest enough to tell him why. After I told him, He kissed my scars because it was all he could think to do. I told myself it was romantic. It wasn’t.
With time, my scars faded like the distant memories of that first boyfriend. By the time I was a sophomore in college, I was dating someone new. No longer constrained by high school hierarchies, I realized I could date whomever I wanted. I had my eyes set on one of the most attractive guys on campus. He had this incredible tattoo that started on his chest and wrapped all the way around his upper back. On one of our first dates, he told me all about it. How the gorgeous mountains and lake reminded him of home. How the family tree had books on them to represent how much him and his brother loved to read. The autumn leaves on his shoulder. The Coke bottle floating down a waterfall, right on his heart to remind him of his mom. I couldn’t believe he was telling me all of this. He was being so vulnerable. I was seeing this side of him that no one knew. It meant something.
And then he slept with someone else. And he told her all about his tattoo as well. It was kind of like that scene in Gone Girl where the wife sees Ben Affleck wipe the powdered sugar off that other girl’s lips. Our moment suddenly a little less magical.
Unlike in the movie, we weren’t officially together at the time. Just dating I guess. It wasn’t cheating, but wow did it feel like it. Again, I felt worthless. I was not enough for him. I was not enough for anyone. I feel so terrible. Make this hurt go away. Is it possible to feel even sadder? I don’t want to find out. If I cut myself, I can control my feelings. Cutting will be the peak, and afterwards I can only feel better. It will help me calm down.
And it did help me calm down. So this time around, I continued to hurt myself whenever I got worked up. I hid it from that guy for months. I didn’t tell him how upset I still was. I stayed quiet.
Even today, I still struggle at times with feelings of worthlessness. Of not being good enough. Between sophomore year to today, I have hurt myself a handful of more times. Cutting. Scratching. Hair pulling. Binge eating. Vomiting. Anything to help me take my feelings out on myself.
On the positive side, I have resisted self-harm many times using my art project. A handful of the pictures on the website and Facebook page are of me. And I have been in counseling the past couple months to address my underlying issues of self-worth. It is a continuous journey, one I will need to constantly need to nurture and develop, but I know that one thing is certain. I am no longer quiet.
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By starting with my story, I hope I can begin to cover issues surrounding self-harm. Having gone on the subreddit page r/selfharm, I have seen so many posts of people needing guidance and reassurance. My next post will be about how to help loved ones who self-harm.