Wow. It’s been ages since I’ve published something on my blog. I guess I could try to lie to you and say that it’s because I’ve been extremely busy (in which I indeed have been), or that I’ve been too tired (also true), but it would be hiding from the fact that I have become overwhelmed with anxiety over the past several months. I’ve also been extremely ashamed to login to my WordPress and pour my heart out to the world because of how dishonest my blog has been at times. Over the past blog posts, I’ve explained my struggle in my teenage years and how I overcame them, but I’ve regretted saying how happy I am now, or how recovery gets easier every day. Sometimes, I take one step forward and what feels like a hundred steps back. I’ve told myself now that if I am going to keep up with this blog that I am going to have to 100% publish the truth of exactly what I am going through at that said point in time.

Over the past few months all of my time has been dedicated to theater and choir – what truly makes me happy in life. However, along this path, I have discovered how much anxiety truly rules over my life and how embarrassed I truly am. I the madness and whirlwind of my anxiety over the past several months, I relapsed in regards to the field of self-harm. What truly scares me about the event is how willing I was to do it, how quickly it happened, and how long I sat there slicing my own wrist open in attempt to feel something. In an attempt to feel something other than a constant racing heart, sweaty palms, headaches, and shaky limbs. I sat in the bath that night and watched the blood drip into the once pure water, now tainted with an eerie shade of red.

It has been proven that self-harm can be just as addicting as cocaine. Just like cocaine, self-harm provides a momentary sense of euphoria, an escape route for souls that thirst something more than the pain that they have already endured. I sat there in my tainted water that night and couldn’t wait to do it again the next day. Just as most people who self-harm are, I didn’t feel like I had cut deep enough when I went to sleep later that night. I wanted more marks upon my arms, I wanted scars to stay forever. I wanted to always have a reminder of what a failure I had become. I nearly resorted to purging that night. I sat there in front of the toilet wanting to feel once again what it was like to have the bones of my body sticking out for all to see. It took every single ounce in my being not to give up my more than 2 year clean streak in just an instant.

The next day at school, I had dance rehearsal for an individual event for GA Thescon. The looks of horror that I received that night at rehearsal as my arms were exposed made me remember the reason I chose to give up self-harm originally. It turned me into a monster not just mentally, but too look at. My arms physically repulsed people and the questions that bombarded me just made me even more anxious than I had felt the night before as I picked up a pocket knife. I wouldn’t become that monster again when I came home.

I guess the reason that I am sitting here right now pouring my heart to you right now is because of the amount of people I was able to touch with my story. Nothing has ever made me feel more worthy in life than someone saying “Your story made it easier for me to start my journey of recovery.” Currently, a story about my recovery and life is hanging inside of my school for all to see. A young girl, who I have mentioned before wrote this incredible piece about the incredible human being that my recovery had helped me become. I’m here pouring my heart to you to show how human I am and how tough recovery is. I’m here because my recovery is still a battle every single day. I’m here to let my story be known and to hopefully again, inspire someone to put down the blade and let that bath water stay pure and crystal clear.