about...

I first created this website in 2000 when I began therapy for my cutting. In the years since its inception I have gotten much better, but just as I believe holds true for any addiction, the battle goes on. Most days I win, but there are those where I slip back.

The most important thing I learned in therapy was that the reason I never stopped cutting was because I was waiting for the "want" to go away. Someday, I told myself, I won't want to do this anymore - I'll know when it's time to stop.

What therapy taught me about my addiction, like many others, is that you never want to stop. You fight the urge to cut every day, for the rest of your life. Some days are easier than others, some seem almost impossible, and some days, you do cut. I will forever be a "recovering" self-injurer.

same name, different place

This site was originally located at Geocities with the address www.geocities.com/yin_yang_gyrl. The new URL is bleedingoutthepain.com - please update your bookmarks. This site was last updated on September 18, 2016.

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my story | relapses | old journal entries | si poetry

- chronicles of a self-injurer: my story -

The following piece was written in 2000, not long after entering mandatory, daily group therapy - as an alternative to being committed - to begin the process of recovery for my self-injury.

I have a problem. It is an addiction and it is serious. I cut myself. When I am angry, panicked, scared, depressed, or just sad it is my way of coping. I first cut myself when I was fifteen, and it has taken me seven years to admit that I had a problem. Like any other addiction, I thought I was in control, that I could stop at any time, and that it wasn't really a problem.

I cut myself the first time to try and prove a point. My father drank a lot and I was trying to think of a way to get a message across to him that he was hurting his family deeply. Talking to him, crying, writing to him..nothing seemed to make a difference. Somehow I thought that maybe if I did something drastic, like cut myself because of his drinking, he would realize what an impact his actions were having on us. I was nervous and couldn't seem to make myself do it at first. Then I tried just running the razor blade over my skin and was surprised when blood began to seep through my skin. It hadn't hurt at all. I cut my arm twice, and leg once. Then I felt very ashamed and cried. Later, my mother saw and became angry with me; my father's reaction was to call me "stupid." I had thought of hurting myself before, but this was the first time I'd ever done anything like this.

It would be a few months before I would harm myself again. I got into a fight with my parents wherein they furiously chastised me over something I did not feel I deserved punishment for. Though I felt guilty about what had happened, I felt it had not been my fault. I was infuriated with them and frustrated with myself. After my parents left the house, I ran upstairs and into my bathroom. Grabbing a small razor blade meant to be a letter opener, I screamed and cried, "It's not my fault!" As I as I cried, I literally hacked at my upper left arm with angry, vicious slashes. My arm was covered in small, bloody cuts and one large, deep gash that I still bear the markings of today. It was my first scar. Later, I hid my cuts with long sleeves until they healed enough so as not to be so noticeable.

Over the years I have cut myself deeply and horribly with razor blades and knives for various reasons and heartaches. My arms, and some of my legs, are covered in terrible scars. I call them my "battle scars" for each one marks a time in my life where things became so unbearable I had no other way to cope. The wounds and scars from my cutting began to grow worse and the frequency with which I did so became more. There were, also, times that I cut myself just to cut myself; because, in truth, I liked to do it. There was something healing about "bleeding out the pain". When I could not deal with the pain on the inside, I brought it forth on the outside. This pain was real, I could feel it and see it and I could deal with it. It calmed me, it soothed me.

As the number of scars grew and became near impossible to hide (and more than a little frightening-looking to the uninitiated), I began to realize that I could not stop cutting by myself. Thankfully, around this time, a good friend talked me into taking the first step towards healing: admitting to everyone I had a problem. As of this writing (2000), I am on that road to recovery, taking the first few steps with a positive outlook on the future and the feeling I'm doing the right thing.

How did I get to this point? How did I switch from cutter to recovering self-injurer? I believe it changed for me upon realizing I had been waiting for the "want" to cut myself to go away. I came to see that - just like recovering alcoholics who never stop wanting the alcohol - I would always want to cut myself. I had to learn to say no to my addiction and find other ways of coping. Even now, as I take the first few tentative steps toward stopping, there is a part of me that does not want to stop. It will take all of my willpower to cease cutting myself again, yet I know - with strength, support, and courage - that I can do it.

- relapses -

I hope I have not conveyed that my battles are done or my war is won. I fight constantly with my long-learned urge to cut myself when things feel out of my control or in moments of deep distress. In my times of greatest anguish or extreme emotion, my first instinct is to reach for a blade. It is a pining I fight hard to control - sometimes I win; others I do not.

Self-injury is usually a sign of other problems - and I have been diagnosed as being borderline adult a.d.h.d. and suffering from manic depression/bipolarism. I refuse to capitilize these terms nor do I let myself harp much on these medically diagnosed labels; I feel this would simply be a crutch - an excuse - for my behavior. I would much rather focus all of my energies on the perpetual cycle of healing.

I would like the people that read my words - the curious, the concerned, and the other self-injurers - to understand my intentions with Bleeding Out the Pain; that the main drive behind the creation and upkeep of this website is to help.

In doing that, I, also, have to be honest - I am not perfect; I do not have the secret never-cut-again cure, and I have relapses just like everyone else.

We all make mistakes, and I do not want anyone castigating themselves with guilt for slipping into self-injury again; especially if doing so only makes an emotionally-charged moment worse. It happens - to all of us. All you can do is pick yourself up and start back on the road to healing again. Guilt will get you nowhere; except maybe another date with a blade, a flame, or a blunt object.

To prove my point - and maybe to help myself be even stronger in my resolve - I will record here the last time I cut, and will update it when I slip again. I am not proud of my relapses, but I'm only human. Just like you - please know you aren't alone.

I last cut on Wednesday, September 16, 2009.

- a cutter's journal: old journal entries -

Some of the material within are actual entries into my journals that were written when I had just, or was in the process of, cutting myself. Most are simply my thoughts on cutting in general, my own cutting and why I do it.

If you are trying to learn more about cutters, this will give you some insight into the mind set of those who cut, and what they are going through when they do so.

For those of you who cut, the material presented here will be familiar, and possibly deeply affecting. I have shared it with you here so that you will know you are not alone and you are not crazy. Remember that others go through and experience the same pains as you, and also cope by hurting themselves. You are never as alone as you think you are.

28 January 2004
Most people, when faced with my scars, the act of my cutting, or even the memory of it, turn away in fear. They are disgusted and confused - they don't understand, can't comprehend how or why someone would or could do such a thing to themselves. My family has never understood it, and hates it - they don't like to see my scars; they feel it is some beacon that says they were to blame, that it is somehow their fault. My ex - I don't know what he thought of the scars; I don't remember. I think he said they hurt him. My boyfriend thinks they are ugly. I think my friend, Shannan, is the only person I've ever met that said, "your scars are so cool"; and meant it. But I suppose you have to see mental anguish and pain as beauty - which it is in some ways - to really think of the scars as beautiful or cool. For they are simply real and tangible beings borne of emotions usually only felt. I don't know what I think of them. Sometimes I don't like them - sometimes I wonder what my arms would like free of the terrible scarring. But I don't wish them gone; they are a part of me, they are my life story displayed for the world to see. They say, "Yes, I've suffered - I understand pain - and I survived it." They tell people, the people that are open to it, "I can feel your pain as well - I've been there - you can come to me - I understand." They are my battle scars. People are scared of my scars. Being a cutter, causing such pain and disfigurement to your own body, letting what is inside shine forth on the outside, is something you've never really experienced. You don't know what it is to feel that rage inside, and then to feel it pour out in a soothing stream of blood. You can't truly relate to silencing the screams in your head with the slice of a blade.

9 May 1999
Anger. Always anger. When all other emotions leave me anger is always what's left....The tears come - don't know why - can't stop them. But's never just the tears - the pain and anger, they come to; why? From where? With no premonition on my part they come unbidden. Why these mood swings; this need to shed tears? This terrible, deep pain - and I can't bleed it out this time; they won't let me. The blood, the beautiful blood - bright red or deep crimson, it pours forth, cleansing the negative energies flowing from me with the blood. Listening to "Alien" by Bush. Alien - we're all aliens. Alienated truly from everything and everyone. Life is really a personal experience. No one can do it for you or feel it like you. We're really all so alone.

Pain on the inside must be brought to the outside to deal with it.... Bleed out my pain. It is the only way it will not destroy me inside.

Is it horrible that the thoughts that truly calm me most are those of me slitting my wrists, lying in my own blood as it pools around me?! This calms me - this is beautiful to me. Are these the thoughts of a doomed person? Am I doomed to be locked in this mental hell until it drives me so crazy that I take my own life to end it?!!?

18 February 2000
This pain...this pain...this pain...can't stand it, can't control it, can't stop it - must draw it out, must bleed it out.

Tired, exhausted - mentally, emotionally drained. Anguish, pain, GUILT - they destroy me, consume me.

More to Come...
As you can imagine, it is difficult to revisit these journals and the pain within. I will be adding more as I can.

- sometimes we bleed on paper: si poetry -

Here are poems I've written during my struggles with self injury. Poetry is beautiful and I feel helps to convey the true, deep feelings of one's soul in anguish, pain, or any major emotion. The poems found here are written by me under my poet-penname of "Seether".

In Love with the Pain
Stay cold
crazy weather
because I can't show
the new pain
I've inflicted upon myself
to cure the pain.
Am I wrong?
I love it!
I love this pain
and I love my own blood
bleeding my pain away.
I've fallen back.
- Seether

This Helps
Help me.
I can only cut myself
because there is no one else
to help me
but me.
And this helps.
- Seether