Silent Addiction

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is an essay I had to do for Expository writing. It's a true story. It's about me and what I had done to relieve the pain and memories that were jammed in my head. I decided to write about this to show people that they are not alone, and there is always help!

Submitted: October 02, 2011

A A A | A A A

Submitted: October 02, 2011



The scar


The memories of those days are still vivid to this day. The scars on my arm were never

‘accidents’, they were never ‘dog scratches’, or ‘cat scratches’, they were from me. They have

always been from me. I used to make it a tradition to when I got anxiety attacks, felt lost, or

alone. Those traditions were pretty much every day in my world. I was a messed up little child. I

have 688 scars on my body. Some you can clearly see, some hidden under clothes and some

that have faded. I can tell you my story, but after I have succeeded, don’t treat me any

different. It’s all in the past.

My scars have led me to a breaking point in life. My mom forced me into an ER saying

that I need to get help. I was already seeing a counselor; last thing I wanted was to be held in a

psychiatric facility. My cutting had gotten worse over the years. It felt like an addiction to me,

like I HAD to do it. The blood, it was my friend; I would of given anything to hang with my friend

anytime. I also had another friend, it was my blade, and my blade was my best friend. It helped

me get to my friend all those times.

A bad day at school wasn’t unusual for me; I was already used to them. It was my

immediate obsession to go to my room and try to calm down first. I tried talking to my ex-

boyfriend (Who was my boyfriend at the time) but he kept saying I was ridiculous for acting so

inconsiderate. He made my problems turn to his and he yelled at me for it. He always said, “You

lack discipline.” That phrase made my nose crinkle. Who was he? My father or my boyfriend? I

haven’t had a father my whole life, I didn’t need one now. “Typical…” He once said. “You just

want attention, it’s what you always want huh? Why don’t you talk to me when you learn to be

respectful of what I do for you.”

The salty tears streamed down my face. It was time to turn to my other friends, the

ones who are always there for me when I need them most.

I did my usual, I scurried to the bathroom and got my six slices of tissue and my two

band aids. I ran back to my room and retrieved my blade. Taking in a few deep breaths always

set me straight. My knees fell to the floor and I stumbled down. “You’re not worthless

Amanda.” I said to myself. “You don’t want attention, you’re not like that.”

The blade felt cold between my fingers. I stared at it long and hard. Its rusty edges the

sharp lining excited me. I was excited.

I lifted the left part of my shirt up my arm and let it rest on my shoulder. I already had

fresh cuts on the lower area so it was time to move on up. I took in another deep breath and

chewed on my bottom lip for a minute, ignoring the call I was receiving. He probably wanted to

apologize for what he said to me earlier. It was too late; I was busy with other business.

“Shut up Dennys, I’m busy!” I screamed at my phone.

I continued gnawing on my bottom lip. The blade poked at my arm, it sent shivers down

my spine. My fingers gently eased the blade down my flesh, opening it up a bit. I couldn’t stop

there. I was almost finished.

I poked the blade down deeper with more pressure asserting myself that it would be

deep, the blade dragged across my arm in a perfect line. I breathed out as I let the rusty blade

claps from my cold life-less fingers. There was no pain. I never got that.

I felt my adrenaline increase. I always loved that feeling! My eyes switched from the

blade resting on the carpet to my arm.

My flesh was opened…

Already forming was bubbles of crimson red blood. I knew this was going to be a big

show. I gently caressed my arm as the blood spilled down. Red lines formed.

But the memories, they weren’t away yet, I…I couldn’t forget just yet. I quickly picked up

the blade and slashed another line just below the first one. More blood spilled out. But I just

couldn’t stop the hurt!

Another came…

And another came…

Before I knew it there were four new cuts on my upper arm. They weren’t as deep as

the first. The first cut is always the deepest. How sick was I?

Cleaning those masterpieces was a hassle. I definitely felt the burning sensation

erupting that night, and when I took a shower.

When my mother found out my cutting addiction was back, she called my psychiatrist.

Then I was transferred to the ER. Never have I ever been so frightened in my life. Waiting eight

hours in a hospital bed just to talk to some psychologist, just so he could ask me if I “felt safe”

was ridiculous.

“No…” I began. “I don’t feel safe. But I want to be at home, with my mom.”

Lucky for me, I was released into my mother’s care. But I was obligated to attend a

group in Nashua called Direction Behavioral Health.

My experience there changed my outlook in life. I attend it there every week day after

school for two months. I met so many new friends and even had good times with the

counselors that I met!

This year I am sixteen. Next year I will be seventeen. I have not harmed myself for six

months, almost seven. All I can say is thank you to those who have helped me through all the

rough times in the past and to all those who never lost faith in me… Thank you!

© Copyright 2020 MannyMadness. All rights reserved.

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