Thursday, March 1st is Self-Injury Awareness Day.
September 18th, 2011 is the first time I self-harmed. I took the blade to my leg and cut, watching the blood as it dripped down my skin. It was a release, it was a way to control my life since everything around me had seemed to be falling apart, and it became my new addiction. It has been two weeks since the last time I cut, and even though I say this all the time, I intend on never doing it again. Right now, we are in the middle of the Lenten Season. And while I tell everyone I've given up chips and ice cream, I have really given up self-harm. Too many people around me are struggling, are in pain, and need help. This is something I have noticed since I first came to Oregon State and experienced life out of high school- real life. In real life, people are scared. In real life, people are running. And in real life, people are trying to survive. I am one of these people. And for 6 months now, I have used self-harm as a crutch, as something I turned to when I felt desperate. I have had two people walk away from me upon learning about this, two people I wanted to trust and have faith in. Maybe I wanted them to be the ones to save me, to help me get through. But now, I'm realizing I can only save myself. I can't rely on others to pull me out of this darkness, I need to start climbing. I need to take back control of my life.
Right now, everything is uncertain. But isn't that life? We never know what's going to happen, where the day is going to take us, and how certain people will affect our lives. Right now, I am in the middle of a battle, an internal struggle, determined to come out on top. I don't know if I am going to win, I don't know if I am going to lose. But right now, I am making a promise to myself. Next year, I want March 1st to be a positive day, a day of reminder for my success in quitting self-harm. Next year, I want to say that I don't need to cut to make it through the hard times. Next year, I want to say that I survived.
On March 1st, 2013, I will get a tattoo of an orange ribbon, the symbol for Self-Injury Awareness Day, next to my scars. This tattoo will be a reminder of all that I've gone through, of all that I will continue to go through. This ribbon will remind me that I am strong, that I can make it on my own, and that I am a survivor.
I thought I had it all figured out. I would go to college in Oregon, get the experience of living away from home for four years, really find myself with new people and a new town. And while I was doing all of that, I would get my Education degree, teaching license and credentials, and come home to do the one thing I've wanted to do my whole life. For a while, it seemed entirely possible. I was chugging along, doing what was told of me as well as I could. Then, the first curveball. My advisers were only having me work on one of my majors, and since I had just declared Spanish minor, I had a lot of catching up to do to be able to graduate in just four years. I took summer school, I've been managing 21 credits the past two terms, and have been ensuring I do everything I'm told to do to make this work. But every time I get back from an advising appointment, I get told something new, something disappointing that pushes me back another 10 steps. And I'm tired. I'm tired of feeling like I'm working this hard for nothing. I'm tired of feeling like I'm giving everything I have for this but getting nothing back. I'm tired of wishing I was doing all of this at home, student teaching with the same teachers who inspired me to work toward this profession to begin with.
Now it looks like I'll be dropping my Education major, and sticking with Liberal Studies and Spanish minor. This will free up my life considerably; I'll have more time to have fun, to enjoy these selfish college years before real life starts, and I'll finally be able to breathe again. Yet while this all sounds ideal, I can't shake the feeling that I'm somehow quitting, that I'm giving up. I know it sounds ridiculous to think this, because when it comes down to it, if I take this path I'll just go home and get my credentials and license from a school 20 minutes from home. I'll be able to spend more time with my family, the people who mean more to me than anything else in this world. And I'll at least have the option of being placed somewhere near my house for student teaching, and won't be forced to drive an hour and a half away, four times a week like I would up here. I only wish I could take time to think this over, to come to a definitive decision. But there isn't any time. There is never any time. And I'm terrified that if I pull the plug on the double degree program, I'll regret it for the rest of my life. All I know is that right now, I'm missing those days where my biggest worry was a skinned knee, or losing in Halo against my brother. I want that back. I want that innocence back. I want the feeling of safety when you crawl into bed next to your mom. I want the feeling of hope for the world, that somehow everything is going to work out perfectly. But those feelings are unrealistic now, they're in the past. And maybe I just need to move on and realize that all I have is right now.
