Since I’ve just marked my 30th year on this planet, I’ve lately found myself reflecting on my life. As it stands now, I’m in love with a man who freely admits he’s pretty nuts about me too, I’m lucky enough to be translating my passions into (albeit meager) paychecks, I volunteer, I vote. All good stuff, the hallmarks of a person who has her life together.
The thing is, I never thought I’d live this long. Having a perfect storm of prerequisite issues that aided in the devaluing my own life, it wasn’t too long ago that I was swinging madly between maladaptive behaviors. I didn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I thought a lot about killing myself. I was hospitalized several times during my college years. Despite all the hospitalizations, the awkward post-hospitalization meetings with the Dean of Students, and the weekly meetings with my therapist, I was unable to discuss the problem I kept well-hidden.
I was a cutter. Keep reading »