My Pain

We all have secrets. 

We all have scars.

We all have things in our past we don't like to share. 

We all cope with things differently. 

Some of us bottle it up. 

Some go to therapy. 

Some write about it in song and use it to reach out. 

Some hurt themselves. 

I'm part of the last group.

When I was a teenager, my family underwent a HUGE change that turned my life upside down. We became missionaries and started traveling everywhere, raising support, living in so many different houses and states. 

It was hard. I hated it. I was miserable, not having many long-term friends (it's just so hard to keep up, even though it was possible to do).

Desperate for control, I turned to the only thing I, in my naive teenage mind, knew how to control: I started hurting myself. It started off small, purposely running into things and getting bruises. Things I could write off as me being a klutz. I never did it for attention; I did it to rebel, though it was more a silent rebellion than anything else.

It escalated quickly, though...and I went down the dark, dangerous path of cutting. I had no idea what I was getting myself into, I just wanted to have a choice about something that happened in my life for once. 

When it was discovered at college (though I can't remember how anyone found out), I had to have weekly exams by the nurse to make sure I wasn't still involved in it, but I found ways around that. 

Then I ended up at the hospital because of very concerned professors (who were right to do what they did) and the doctors wanted to put me on anti-depressants. I refused. They wanted me to go in weekly for therapy. I refused that also. (Have I mentioned that I'm stubborn and was wildly rebellious way too often?)

Meanwhile, I would cut myself almost habitually and for the smallest of reasons. I would take anything that happened and turn it into something that was, in my eyes, worthy of physical pain.

Christmas break came and I did what I could to hide my scars from my parents, all while slowly sinking further into myself. I was, again, miserable and not sure what to do about it or how to change.

I started talking to a friend who asked me if I knew I was a Christian. I couldn't answer that question honestly, so he called me and helped me realize how important it was for me to surrender to Christ. I could absolutely feel a battle waging inside me while he was talking to me. I so wanted to open my heart to Jesus and let go of the hurt, lies, and sin I was wallowing in, but I was terrified. Change is scary! I'm so thankful that my eyes were opened and that night, Christ became the Savior of my heart. What a difference it made immediately!

But when I went back to school, it was so hard to not get sucked back into that lifestyle. I would stay up for hours at night, crying hysterically and unable to stop; I had headaches ALL THE TIME from crying, and I didn't have very many friends I could talk to about it.

God is good, though, and He brought some awesome people into my life who helped me through it all. 

It's been a long, hard road since then, and I had quite a few relapses. The temptation to cut will almost always be there but I've learned to distract myself from it (running, yoga, being honest to people when I'm struggling). 

If you're reading this and have, yourself, gone down that dark, dangerous path, please know this: there's hope! You don't have to be stuck living like that! I want to strongly encourage you to get help. Talk to someone you trust. Don't try to get through it alone!

My name is Emily. I'm not proud of my past and I have scars I can't hide, but I'm proof that change is possible.