Self-Harm is Not a Joke (Semi-Rant)
You may notice that, unlike my preivous blog posts, this one does not have the pretty font. That's becaust I want no distraction from the actual issue here.
I'm sick and tired of seeing and hearing about fans (both kpop and non-kpop alike) slicing themselves up for the attention of someone who, in all likelyhood, if they ever even did see the picture of you carving your eternal "love" for them into your arm, they aren't going to think, "Hey, now, that's dedication right there. We should find this chick right now and get married!"
No. Most likely not even if (possibly when) they were on weed.
It would probably go something more like, "...hey, so exactly how many bodyguards do we have with us at all times?.... Really.... Hire some more. Oh, and let's see about getting some of that pepper spray stuff
....and maybe a taser."
News flash, because apparently it's not as obvious as it should be:
Even if you had a chance at being with that famous person of your choice, the moment you sliced open your skin that chance slipped away.
Now it's about to get personal because, honestly? This has been going on too long. People aren't understanding the severity of this issue. So read on. Share it or don't. Hate, comment, hit the back arrow and pretend you never saw it. I don't really care if my blogpost, personally, get's seen because it's the message that's important.
But you all know something has to be done.
Before I begin, this is not something I'm doing asking for pity. I'm posting this because I'm out of the situation and I've accepted things and I want to make a difference. If you are going to comment, don't say something like "oh you poor thing!" but rather something about the message of my story and post in general.
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Now I don't think anyone on here knows this, but I didn't have the best childhood. Both my parents lost their jobs when I was younger and both began to drink quite frequently. As the older child, I was often the target for their anger, whether it was physical, mental or emotional abuse. I was never stick thin, but I began to eat for comfort. Then when I entered middle school, I became the target of my classmates teasing. Between the cruelty at home and at school and having no safe place to escape from it, I began to break.
I began to believe it all, and to this day I still remember a lot of what was said. I learned that even though I rememberd my classmates comments, I couldn't remember who said them or even when. However, the memories from when my parents were abusive are as vivid as if they happened yesterday.
I was to blame for them losing their jobs.
I was to blame for all the fighting that happened between them.
How could anyone love me when I looked the way I did?
My mother was perfectly happy before I came along.
I was like a walking cancer, destroying everything I touched.
I'd been like a thorn in my father's side since I was born.
Soon I couldn't take it anymore. One day near the middle of my 6th grade year I slipped a paper clip into my pocket and asked to go to the restroom. I spent the next ten minutes in there, using the unfolded piece of metal to carve the word "THORN" into my arm.
I went on like that for years. I'd wear jackets and long sleeves even in 100º F or higher heat. The few times people would notice my cuts and scars and ask about them, I would make up some ridiculous excuse that, looking back, was obviously false so that they'd leave me alone. And yet, at the same time, I screamed at them in my mind to ignore me and ask if I was really okay. Did I need to talk? Was anything going on?
But no one cared enough. Even when I stopped caring enough to put makeup on my bruises, and I came to school with jammed and broken fingers, no one cared enough.
I finally snapped the end of my 8th grade year when my mother scoffed at my cuts and called me an "attention-seeking-brat". I went to the medicine cabinet in the other room and downed 3 nearly full bottles of pills.
I sat there for a moment, then another. A minute went by.
I realized I didn't want to die.
I went and told my mother who, drunk at the time, didn't believe me. She asked which trash can I threw them in and said that she wan't going to take me to the hospital. Even though my dad had just gotten a job which provided insurance, we still couldn't afford it.
After I begged her for another several minutes, she finally drove me to the hospital, yelling at me that I was just trying to get attention the entire way.
When we finally got there and I showed them the bottles I'd taken, than they listend to my heart rate (which was speeding up at a rapid rate) they immediately took me to pump my stomach.
And what do you think the first thing was that my mother said after all of this?
"What would have driven you to pull a stupid stunt like this?"
At that point I realized that I had been unfortuate enough to be given to people unable to care for me (my father is a whole rant on his own). The insults still happen, but they don't affect me anymore. I've long since stopped the self-harm, and have never been happier now that I'm surrounded my friends, my work-family, and all the amazing people I meet on here.
But back to the issue. This whole think about blood letters, Cut for Bieber, the "I love EXO" arm thing.
IT NEEDS TO STOP.
What are these people going to do later in their life? How are they going to explain those scars? I no longer wear long sleeves all the time, but I sometimes will have someone ask about my arms.
I think the biggest part of this is that this affects the people who really DO need help. Those people who are going through tough times. Because that's what self-harm is: the unconscious mind calling out for help. It's screaming at the world, "Help! I'm hurting, and I just need one person to notice. Doesn't anyone care?"
http://electricbeats.wordpress.com/2012/01/05/blood-letters-for-kpop-idols/
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