Post by Barbara on Jul 27, 2005 15:28:25 GMT -5
This is an english paper from my portfolio this year but its my essay of experiance i got an A on it so if u want to know my battle of SI here it is......
Losing Control of My Life
Growing up I was generally a happy child. Rarely did I have a bad occurrence or a cause for upset. Unfortunately, somewhere in between childhood and my current state of life, my mind became unable to cope with everyday life and everything in my life. Then I became a self-injurer. During the fourth grade I began “developing,” and was rather embarrassed about it because not very many of my classmates appeared to have begun that process. This marked the beginning of a period of eating disorders which continued on for the next seven years. During my freshman year I became extremely depressed, and I no longer cared about myself, my life, or anyone else. I soon began to worry my family and friends because I was no longer the person they used to know. I began bruising myself on purpose and often lied to cover my actions. By my sophomore year bruising no longer helped me to deal with my emotions, and I resorted to cutting my arms as a new outlet for my frustrations with life. As my self-injury progressed, so did my suicidal tendencies and thoughts. As my cuts grew deeper and my scars multiplied, my mother recognized the extent of my problems and became extremely worried. When I realized my mother was beginning to catch on, I simply found newer and less conspicuous areas of my body on which to harm. Toward the end of my sophomore year my guidance counselor was informed of this situation from my swim coach. After this she pulled me out of Spanish class one day and talked to me about it. She made a sincere effort to assist me on the road to recovery. The truth is I wasn’t ready to recover yet, but I agreed to consider counseling. At the beginning of my junior school year, just cutting was no longer a satisfying way for me to release my emotions. As I spiraled into an even denser bout of depression, I discovered a new sensation—burning. I soon realized that self-injury is my high, my drug, and it has even been referred to as my main addiction. I realized I didn’t want it to stop. Part of me needed to see how deep I could cut and how long I could burn. I needed to realize how much pain a human like myself could handle. Then my mother discovered that I was still mutilating my body and began to question me. Around mid-august of that year, I realized I wanted to recover from my eating disorders and gain control my self-injurious behavior. Mostly I wanted my depression to go away so I could be truly happy again. I realized that I needed help. I needed help not just from my family and friends, but I needed help from a professional. I explained to my mother what had been going on and why I wanted to go. After about ten minutes, I had convinced her to let me go to a counselor. I soon became a patient at Harcourt Counseling, a company based in Rushville with a smaller office in Greensburg. After being a patient for about two and a half months, I realized that even though I wanted to recover my heart still wasn’t ready. I joined an internet group called Operation Orange. Operation Orange is a self-injury awareness group of forty-five people all over the country that are there to talk to and to help each other attain wellness again. Operation Orange helped me stop my self-injurious habits before I lost complete control. I cannot say I am fully recovered, nor can I say I ever will be, but I am getting better. I have talked to my mother and my counselor, and we believe that and over the next few months I will be well enough to end my regular counseling sessions and only go when I become extremely desperate for my blade.
Losing Control of My Life
Growing up I was generally a happy child. Rarely did I have a bad occurrence or a cause for upset. Unfortunately, somewhere in between childhood and my current state of life, my mind became unable to cope with everyday life and everything in my life. Then I became a self-injurer. During the fourth grade I began “developing,” and was rather embarrassed about it because not very many of my classmates appeared to have begun that process. This marked the beginning of a period of eating disorders which continued on for the next seven years. During my freshman year I became extremely depressed, and I no longer cared about myself, my life, or anyone else. I soon began to worry my family and friends because I was no longer the person they used to know. I began bruising myself on purpose and often lied to cover my actions. By my sophomore year bruising no longer helped me to deal with my emotions, and I resorted to cutting my arms as a new outlet for my frustrations with life. As my self-injury progressed, so did my suicidal tendencies and thoughts. As my cuts grew deeper and my scars multiplied, my mother recognized the extent of my problems and became extremely worried. When I realized my mother was beginning to catch on, I simply found newer and less conspicuous areas of my body on which to harm. Toward the end of my sophomore year my guidance counselor was informed of this situation from my swim coach. After this she pulled me out of Spanish class one day and talked to me about it. She made a sincere effort to assist me on the road to recovery. The truth is I wasn’t ready to recover yet, but I agreed to consider counseling. At the beginning of my junior school year, just cutting was no longer a satisfying way for me to release my emotions. As I spiraled into an even denser bout of depression, I discovered a new sensation—burning. I soon realized that self-injury is my high, my drug, and it has even been referred to as my main addiction. I realized I didn’t want it to stop. Part of me needed to see how deep I could cut and how long I could burn. I needed to realize how much pain a human like myself could handle. Then my mother discovered that I was still mutilating my body and began to question me. Around mid-august of that year, I realized I wanted to recover from my eating disorders and gain control my self-injurious behavior. Mostly I wanted my depression to go away so I could be truly happy again. I realized that I needed help. I needed help not just from my family and friends, but I needed help from a professional. I explained to my mother what had been going on and why I wanted to go. After about ten minutes, I had convinced her to let me go to a counselor. I soon became a patient at Harcourt Counseling, a company based in Rushville with a smaller office in Greensburg. After being a patient for about two and a half months, I realized that even though I wanted to recover my heart still wasn’t ready. I joined an internet group called Operation Orange. Operation Orange is a self-injury awareness group of forty-five people all over the country that are there to talk to and to help each other attain wellness again. Operation Orange helped me stop my self-injurious habits before I lost complete control. I cannot say I am fully recovered, nor can I say I ever will be, but I am getting better. I have talked to my mother and my counselor, and we believe that and over the next few months I will be well enough to end my regular counseling sessions and only go when I become extremely desperate for my blade.
