Confessions of a confused soul # 8: Ouch!

One of the most important lessons I learnt in my three decade old life is: " There is no wound worse than the ones you give yourself!" because it shows how much you hate yourself to have done that.  

I faintly remember being bullied all throughout my school and college for a very strange reason - I was too gullible. I remember my worst childhood punishments were when my mom would refuse to speak to me and ensure I was boycotted in the house. That secluded feeling it brought along was worst. I carried that fear so deep within me that till date my worst fear is being avoided/ignored and left alone. And it is because of this that I took into whatever was told to me every single time. 

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I also remember a friend of mine whose mother was a nurse. Being bench-mates we shared more than just lunch boxes. One day she was carrying a blade with her, a surgical one used by doctors to cut open a patient. She was showing it off with pride telling how she intended to cut herself with it that night. Awestruck by something like that I asked innocently "Why?" "Just for fun. It is thrilling!" She smiled. I never understood the thrill part in it. But that "cutting" part stayed with me. 

Long after that incident I had started digging graves of my dysfunctional family. As one by one skeletons started coming out of the closet it was getting too much for me to take as somehow my little brain was trained to always feel guilty about everything that happened around me. I blamed myself for it all and the only thing that came to my mind then was cutting. I recollect trying to find the sharpest of blades and slashing my hands. Carefully enough not to die, yet deeply enough to pain and bleed. I had also written blood soaked letters to my parents asking forgiveness for petty things, which today seem nothing more than a typical teenager phase. And yet I was made to feel like the worst possible person on earth.

Surprisingly they saw nothing abnormal in this. Neither did I. I continued with it making it ceremonious with memorable dates. 17 slits for 17th birthday to remember how painful every birthday was for me, 5 deep slits on every finger which continued to bleed for few days the moment I put my hand down to remind me of 5 worst mistakes of my life so on and so forth. Last I remember is a deep cut on my hand, one that needed stitches to heal but never got one resulting into a gash so big that it actually looks scary at times which was done when a dumb friend of mine had challenged me to prove my strength calling me a coward. 

I don't remember when and why I stopped cutting myself. Maybe I had began to love myself slowly or had realized how stupid it all felt like. But I do remember each and every scar on my body though today they are very light except a few, light enough to go unnoticed. They don't remind me of a weaker me, rather they remind me that even then I loved life. I never wanted to die, had I wanted to I could have slashed my wrists (My friend who first introduced me to it had told me which nerves are important leading to instant death) but I never even tried it.  All I wanted to do was hurt myself because that physical pain took my mind away from the emotional pain I felt which was too much to bear at times.

Those cuts, drops of blood and that tingling sensation gave me a sense of relief as they reminded me that I am still alive. All that happened around me didn't kill me or make me numb. I could still feel the pain and I still wanted to live. Those cuts were a reminder that just like them I was going to heal one day. It might take time, leave a deep scar but heal I will. I will be whole and then there will be no longer pain or hurt.

Today people do ask me about that huge scar on my left hand and I very proudly say "Oh! that was a life changing accident." It truly was. It made me realize how important was my life that all this wasn't just worth it.

~ To be continued.

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