"He has made me promise to not burn myself."

Nicole Easterwood, age 20
Jacksonville, AL

His hands are smooth,
uncalloused,
as they touch my skin.
At the beginning of each
of my phalanges
lay thick calluses.
My thumbs,
and sometimes index fingers,
are torn up
and bleed from picking.
I can’t stop.
I’ve tried so many times.
I’ve thought of him
and pleaded with my mind
to stop.
I’ve tried.

His arms are free of scars,
so strong.
I look at mine and am ashamed.
Reminders of cold bathroom floor,
mixing with the flame of a lighter.
So many sleepless nights.
So many days of curtains drawn.
So many panic attacks taking over me.
I’ve tried to be calm.
I’ve tried.
I’ve tried.

No one seems to understand
how it feels to think
that you are alone.
But when his hand brushes mine,
breathing ceases
and I am not thinking
of how I can make it stop.
It culminates and I am fine.
Nothing matters
except simply being.

He has made me promise
to not burn myself.
To stop
inflicting pain.
I promised.
And I will
keep my promise.
Because he’s worth it.
Because I’m scared
to say I love him.
To tell him
he deserves someone
who is well.
To tell him,
“You make me
feel less alone.”

"Drooping like a flower gone without water."

Gabrielle, age 26. California.

“Captured One Hot Summer Day”

the look of her, mouth twisted
down at the corners, drooping like
a flower gone without water.

it was taken years ago - at a party,
too much ego trapped in the clear line
of her throat.

the day before she opened the
length of her arm with a paring knife
her mother left sticky with apple.

the blood (a frothing sea of it) must be
there, you can see the waves coming
in behind the slope of her shoulders.

the thumbprint smears make her eyes
shadowed caves, poring over one moment
where her bones delineated themselves.

if you look long enough you can
see the whites of her eyes, like an
animal caught in a snare.

if you look long enough her mouth
reflects back the desperation in
hot summer days where

she was captured, drawn and quartered
into a reflection that would
last a lifetime.

"Cutting a line that starts out thin."

K. Quimby, age 19. North Carolina.

Done With A Twist

Feeling the cool tile floor against her face

No one to warm her in a big embrace

She wonders how she got like this

Looking down at her cut up wrists

On her wrists she sees unbearable scars

This time she took it way too far

Putting the razor to her skin

Cutting a line that starts out thin

Going deeper than ever before

She just lays there on the floor

As the blood flows out of her wrist

Using the razor for just one last twist

Letting all the blood drain

She feels no more pain

It’s over and done with

Another scar with a twist

Picking herself up off the floor

She is heading to the door

Grasps the door knob tight

She says it’s just another night

"I am more than a diagnosis."

Anonymous.

Disorder Central

I used to think that the DSM IV provided a map to little old me, located in Dysfunctiontown, USA. From the time I was thirteen, I have traveled with a host of disorders. I started with Depression, took a left at Bulimia, blew right throw the light at Cutting and braked just before Suicide. I won't even get into the scenic detours of abuse, PTSD and dissociation disorder (not otherwise specified). I packed light, with a backpack full of pills, each of which offered a more horrific side effect than the last.

Along the way, I stayed with some kind people, people who told me I was more than a diagnosis, had potential beyond despair. I wanted to believe them, but deep down I knew I was worthless and broken. I counted off the years since my suicide attempt as time I did not deserve (or want) to have.

I am not sure at what point my trip changed, when I was able to drop my bag and rest awhile. But what matters is that now I can look back on my travels, as distant memories that led me home.

I know you won't believe me, but sometime you will get to rest too. Home is not in the afterlife or oblivion. It's right there, in your future.

"I would lie awake most of the night, terrified by what was happening to me."

TJ, age 60. Iowa.

"When I went away to college in 1967, I was going to save the world. I was not even able to save myself.

I had always been a fearful and anxious child. Extremely shy, I often wished to become invisible. The pinnacle of agony and self-consciousness came when I was called on in class, or was required to make a speech. I was having anxiety attacks, but only in certain situations, and never recognized them for what they were.

Away from home and living in a college dorm, I felt lost and alone. The campus was huge, classes were overcrowded, and I was exhausted and overwhelmed. I grew more anxious and homesick every day.

While in a crowded classroom, I had my first full-blown panic attack. With my heart pounding and feeling nauseated, I got up, left, and returned to the dorm. This was repeated over and over, with each episode increasing in intensity. Finally I was no longer able to go down to the dining hall to eat. I would lie awake most of the night, terrified by what was happening to me. Soon I left school, and spent the next three years or so in and out of hospitals, seeing therapists, and otherwise housebound.

As time passed I lost all hope of finding relief and sank deeper into depression. I started cutting myself just to feel alive and in control of something. No one understood. I had several therapists, none of whom ever really explained what was happening to me. One day, I came across an article that mentioned a book by Claire Weeks -- Hope and Help for your Nerves. It was a turning point for me. Not only was I not crazy, I had an identifiable disorder that many other people had, too. This finally gave me hope that I could recover from this and be myself again.

I have had periods of stability, and relapses. But I know now that the panic will pass. Depression, anxiety's evil sister, has been harder to overcome. It is still too easy to slip into darkness after a bad experience or hurtful exchange. With therapy and medication, I am working on that.

But you can find yourself again -- don't stop trying."

"I came to realize that no matter how much I tried I couldn’t control everything that was going on around me, and I could only control myself."

Sarah, age 23. Indiana.

"My story is always the hardest one to start. I had to work through more stresses than a lot of young teenagers do, but from reading other peoples stories I learned that things could have been much worse. At eleven years old my older brother was murdered, and it was something we didn’t expect at all. He was 22 and doing a lot of partying, and someone who had done drugs came into his house and freaked out. The night that it happened my parents got a call to come identify him, and left without telling any of us. Somehow I knew, and told my sister that is was him. Four months later my Dad got extremely sick. He has emphysema and COPD, with are like having asthma and constant bronchitis together, he describes it as feeling like you’re breathing through a coffee mixer. One night he just couldn’t breathe well at all and was having constant asthma attacks, and my mom finally convinced him to let her call the ambulance. When they finally got him to the hospital, his heart had stopped once. It stopped again while he was in surgery. They found that he had a large mass in his left lung and removed it, and later we found out it wasn’t cancerous thankfully.

I had to fight myself not to withdraw completely after this. I began cutting myself in order to deal with the stress. It was a release, and a way for me to control the way I hurt. I literally hid my issues inside myself for years. Then something happened that is still hard to speak about, and I really haven’t. When I was 14 I was date raped, and that is how I lost my virginity. It made me feel disgusting, and all the pressure inside of me couldn’t be held in anymore. At that point the people around me started to see that I was falling apart. Anywhere on my body that could be covered with clothes was cut, I started pulling my hair out to deal with being in school. I would function in school but not remember hours of it, and truthfully now I don’t remember most of that time. I ended up in the hospital from trying to kill myself.

I was diagnosed with social anxiety disorder and severe depression, I started on medication but after months on it I found it to be no help. After being in the hospital I dropped out of high school and started homeschooling. I tried to go back the next year, but ended up with health problems and having to have two surgeries, and dropped out again. At 16 I decided I didn’t want to end up living with my parents forever, so I did something about it. I went and got my GED. I spent time on myself. I did anything I wanted to, and kept myself happy. Anytime I did feel depressed again I fought the urge to cut myself. After awhile I came to realize that no matter how much I tried I couldn’t control everything that was going on around me, and I could only control myself. I had a lot of anger, and I realized holding it in was promoting to my problems, so I didn’t hold it in. Anytime someone pissed me off I let them know, I would think it was probably hard to live with me but it’s what I needed.

I’m 23 now, and I’m going to graduate from college next year. I have a 2 year old daughter, Delilah, and she’s amazing. Every day is no longer a struggle, but I wouldn’t say I’m completely rid of it. I still battle anti-social tendencies and depression. The hormonal roller coaster during pregnancy really affected me and I toyed with the idea of cutting. But, now that I’m stronger I saw that it was an issue and told my doctor and he put me in counseling. What I believe is that everything I have dealt with in my life has made me stronger. I believe that I will be a much better mother to my daughter because of the pain I went through."