Love Over Hatred

Last week, a very good friend of mine made a proposal; if I stopped hurting myself, she would stop smoking.  My first reaction was that I could never stop. I have been doing it for 15 years, and I don't really know any other ways of dealing. She told me to think about it over the weekend, and I did. I realized that she had been smoking probably as long as I've been alive, and it would be hard for her to stop smoking just as it would be hard for me to stop hurting myself. I know that she really must love me for her to make that sacrifice. After much thought, I agreed to try it out. She is finishing her last pack of cigarettes, and I'm healing from my last burn.

I was nine when I first starting hurting myself. I had an over-sized pencil I bought from the Museum of Natural History, and I would hit myself with it for hours until I couldn't take it anymore. I would have bruises all over my arms and legs. It's amazing how many times I got away with the "got my arm stuck in a door" excuse. No one ever questioned any further than that. Why did I do it? It was at that age I realized that the things that were happening to me were not normal. I remember sitting in my fourth grade class, and the teacher had mentioned something about us being old enough to take showers and bathe by ourselves. Everyone raised their hand except for me. That was the first of many realizations that what was happening was wrong. I started to blame myself for it, thinking that something must be wrong with me. So every time something happened, I hurt myself. It was my own self-punishment that I believed I deserved.

When I was 13 years old, I started scratching and cutting. Whenever anyone noticed, I blamed the cat, or running into something, etc, etc. It didn't get bad until my second year in high school. Even throughout counseling, and therapy, I never really stopped; I just found better ways to hide it. A few years later, I got into burning. After that, I got into drugs (street and over the counter).  I was grasping for anything that could help me deal with the pain. It was no longer about punishing myself as it had been when I started out. It turned into my way of coping with the feelings I couldn't express out loud.

I have my doubts about being able to stop. If guidance counselors, therapists, psychiatrists, and friends couldn't help me before, why would this instance be any different? Maybe it won't be, or maybe it will. My friend told me that I needed to learn how to love myself. I never understood how to love myself because no one has ever loved me enough to love myself. My friend loves me more than I love myself. I love her more than I love myself. I guess maybe that's the problem.