It’s not a joke. Don’t let anyone tell you any different, because it’s not funny. Similar to an alcoholic trying to maintain sobriety, there never really is an end to the struggle. Born from bleak times, a deep longing, a forever want, it will always be there with you, no matter how hard you try to combat it. Just like smoking marijuana, it can be the gateway to darker things, the worst of them all suicide.

No one has ever taken the struggle seriously. There are those who flaunt their self-inflicted wounds with a sort of pride at what they’d done, vying for attention, ignorant to the fact that this is real and very hard to live with. To anyone who has ever wounded themselves physically for a real reason, this is disgusting and shallow. We are foot soldiers in the struggle, and the civilians prance around us, instigating hatred for our peers, forcing us to recede from society but continue on amongst the ranks as if our people weren’t dying every day.

Pressing a razor, a knife, or any other sharp object to some part of your flesh and slicing until you bleed from multiple cuts is not something to be proud of. I was never proud of it; I never could have gone around to all of my friends, thrusting my bloody arm under their noses shouting, “Woe is me!” I was ashamed. Every new scar to my collection was just another reminder that I was broken inside. Two years later, the memories those scars bring forth still haunts me every time I happen to glance at my bare forearm, remembering how ghastly it looked from the mutilation.

There’s nothing that irritates me more than someone I’m talking to goes, “Oh, I was so depressed,” and then lifts their sleeve to reveal thin pink lines that have hardly broken skin. Cutting is a real problem, but its cancerous people like this that force society to take those with a real problem no more seriously. We hide in the shadows, our names unknown, our depression and our scars hidden from those who judge us, where we can continue to mourn for our once unblemished skin.

It’s a bad habit. I began in seventh grade after an onslaught of strange emotions and troubled times plagued me day and night. The easiest time for me was winter, when wearing a sweater to hide my shame would leave everyone none the wiser. Even then I was ashamed, but suddenly I was addicted to this new way of life. Every time a batch of scars healed, I would deliver another and revel in the pain, for it was a momentary distraction from everything I wanted to ignore. And yet, my problems still existed, no matter how hard I tried to ignore them.

When my friends look at me, they’re shocked to find out I once mutilated myself. Some think I’m lying, others are horrified, while few nod and understand. No one would have ever guessed I struggled with suicide. I’ve come a long way since that dreadful time. Two years have gone by since I defeated my addiction, but it is always there in the back of my mind, the depression and the pain. Together they make a force almost unstoppable, until I remember there are friends, family, and others who would miss me forever should I leave them. They are what give my life light.

Not everyone can be blessed with such hope. A lot of those who are plagued with this addiction like I once was have many reasons for doing so; sexual harassment, abuse from family, depression, anxiety, bi-polar disorder, mental deficiencies, alienation, shame, frustration; almost any strong negative feeling or abuse can trigger this. Those who cut usually aren’t cutting to kill, but to feel some sense of relief from it all. The best way to explain this to someone who doesn’t understand is this: it’s very similar to a particular joke, where your friend complains that they stubbed their toe and it hurts, so you punch them in the arm and say “I bet you’re not thinking about your toe.” It’s almost exactly like this; a diversion from the issue at hand. Cutting can become compulsive, where the mind begins to associate that release of endorphins as a blockage of other bad things.

I remember back in eighth grade, when I confided in an acquaintance my depression and what I did to myself. She didn’t balk at my honesty and only wanted to inspect the wounds more, asking me why I did it and if she could help me. I had told her there was nothing she could do. The next time I saw this girl, she pulled me to the side, lifted her sleeve, and showed me her sloppy attempt at carving “dad” into her arm; all because her father yelled at her a little. Her kind of thinking is what needs to be purged.

Similar to this incident and much more popular was the Great #CutForBieber Epidemic of ’13. All because of a few fake posts and pictures inciting Bieber’s teen fans to cut themselves in hopes of getting their idol to stop smoking marijuana, those who cut were revealed and falsely accused of falling into the hoax. This was a great offense to me, who had given up cutting before this, and likely many others who knew my pain.

It has to end. Those who deem themselves ‘normal’ look at us and shout “Freak!” or “Fake!” all because we have struggles they might never know. We are alienated because we were alienated for not fitting the mold society has forged for us.

Cutting is serious. I would never recommend it to someone. The last thing I ever want is for my friends, my fellow peers, to suffer through the same struggle I endured. I want those who struggle to look at me, to think about me, and be reminded that I came out the other side of a dark tunnel that seemed to stretch on forever and they can too. In a way, my dream would be that anyone who has burst free from the darkness looked to as a beacon of hope for those stumbling day to day. My wish is that those who do not understand not point at us, but to look at us and realize it takes courage to overcome such repercussions, and know that they can too.

You may not see that your words and your actions hurt, but they do. We trust you. We are people just like you. We are your friends, your family, and we want comfort just the same as you do. Be a friend, lend a hand, a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen, and remember that what you do today could save a life tomorrow.