Author: David Tyler

The Paradoxical Irrationality of Self Harming

A sharp sting and a sudden stop,

Halting breaths stutter out

An orgasmic sense of victory

I can still feel. 

I have been bipolar since I was 13; however, being young and bipolar, I attributed all my woes to the “Oh being sad is just part of puberty” idea. Also, bipolar is very hard to self diagnose when you are so young.

“OH GOD I AM SO HAPPY RIGHT NOW I COULD EXPLODE! EVERYTHING IS SO GREAT. COLORS ARE GREAT! DO YOU LIKE COLORS? I DO! THEY ARE SO GREAT!”

Which would inevitably transform into something like . . .

“I hate everything about me. I look back on my life and see naught but the pain I have caused. Why am I even still here? Colors? Those are just things god has made to distract you from the shit that life is. I just want to sleep, sleep and never wake up. Everyone would be better off if I did.”

Oh lord . . . It felt like Linkin Park had written “In the End” in my honor.

Now that I have a small introduction up, it’s time to get the crux of the issue. Cutting.

Cutting is fun. Not in a – I’m at an amusement park and having so much fun – sort of way (well sometimes it can be), but rather, fun in the same way that marijuana is. A sensation. A form of escapism. It is, for someone who is chronically depressed, one of the most euphoric feelings you can have. And you know what? That is not a bad thing. I mean, hell, it sure beats the alternative right? Ask anyone, it’s better to have a friend who cuts than to have one who killed themselves.

See how ridiculous that sounds? And yet, it makes perfect sense to me.

To those who have it is one of the most difficult things to explain to people who haven’t. Cutting, for me at least, is the most addictive thing in the world. The sight of blood oozing out of your skin, the precision of the knife, the feeling of relief flooding over your entire body, if only for a moment, and the feeling of control that it gives you. When your brain is conspiring to make you hurt, like it often does for those like me, the feeling of controlling your own pain and making it a thing with a limited duration can be the most therapeutic thing ever. Hell, I got artsy with it. I carved symbols and pictures into my arms, legs, shoulders, and fingers. I can still see some of them, and that’s groovy.

But cutting is NOT a solution.

It is also not something that will stop by judging the person involved. Just go by the golden rule of life: don’t be a dick.

I stopped when someone I cared about asked me to tell them every time I did it. It kept her up every night I told her.

You realise that pain like that is definitely not as much fun when you share it with those you care about.

It’s a manic world.

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