Dear Self-Harm,

Perhaps love isn’t the right word for the relationship we have, maybe the better word is infatuation. If I loved myself then we would have never met at all, Self Harm. If I had loved myself I never would have tip-toed into the kitchen and quietly taken a knife to keep next to my bed. Like a safety blanket next to me as I did my homework. You were there for me, during my darkest times. It was you who whispered sweet nothings to me when I didn’t know how to show how I felt unless it was by drawing lines across my legs, hips, and wrists.

It wasn’t a healthy relationship. You isolated me, drove me away from all my loved ones until it was just the two of us sitting together in my bed. I honestly believed that you were helping me, you let me be numb. I didn’t have to pretend to be anyone, not the good student, not the funny friend. When I was with you I was silent, quietly enjoying the misery of us. You never wanted anything different, but I started to wonder if we would be better apart. One night when we were, as usual, alone together in my room I started to re-think our whole relationship.

I looked at my body and I didn’t like what you had done to it. I stared at my legs and began to read the love letters we had written all over them, and when I read them a second time I realized that they weren’t love letters at all. They were far from it, the cuts on my legs told me I had misread loneliness for love. I looked at my arms and remembered a time when I wasn’t afraid to wear short sleeve shirts in public. A time when I didn’t hurt my friends by hurting myself. There was a time when I loved myself, and I realized that I had traded that self-love for ours. Together we were toxic, but I was the only was who was suffering. I was the only one who was left with the pain of our relationship. I still have remnants of our relationship, and everyday they remind me of how bad we were together.

When I look at the scars on my legs, I think of you and the way you made me feel. I never want to feel that way again. I’ve learned that I can be there for myself. I don’t need you, Self Harm. To be frank, I hope we never meet again. Nobody deserves to have the kind of relationship we had. I am so much better without you. I write on paper now instead of writing on my body. I’m using a pen instead of a knife to let go of all the heaviness that seems to weigh me down. There are nights when I miss you, but when I think of the way we last left things I remember how much happier I am in my own bed rather than the hospital bed.

Sincerely,

Someone who’s still recovering