The UNSPOKEN

To most people, September 1st is just another day, maybe the first day of school, or just when they have to flip a page in their calendar. But to me, September 1st means a lot more than some day. Three years ago on September 1st, was the last time I ever hurt myself. It’s weird to think about, as time passes, the May I once was slowly becomes more of a stranger to me. I look back to my younger self, and I see a dude who was hurting, some guy who just didn’t have an outlet to express himself. A kid that was willing to sell his soul to feel something, anything. And it was in that mindset where I turned to self harm in search of meaning.

In that period of my life, self harm never felt “good”, I never was happy afterwards, there was still this overwhelming presence of nothing. I tried to convince myself that it was good because I was the one in control, that I could decide when I felt pain and when I didn’t, but deep down inside I knew I was lying to myself. And this gap, this depression, this cycle of self hatred got real bad, I remember there being a few nights I’d plead with God, “Lord, please take me away! Let me die in my sleep, this is too much.” That silence made it even worse.

I mean, this didn’t just hurt me, but it bled to the ones I loved. I guilt tripped my friends into doing what I wanted. I became more aggressive towards people. And at home I had outbursts arguing with my mom, brother, dad, or grandma. It’s a wonder how everyone put up with my bs. When I think about it, I think I did all that because I wanted to feel satisfaction, happiness, joy, contentment, but I never found it that way.

Those days of depression were tough, only spending a few hours outside my room a week, the rest of my time was spent laying down in my bed for the rest of the day, done with myself. Countless hours were spent sulking in my own sadness. I’d hurt my legs enough where it’d be painful to walk, never enough, though, where I thought I might find “peace”. I tried to go sober for as long as I could, but I was never free from myself for too long. And I stayed there, in that depression, for months.

But at some point, I got sick of all of it. On an ordinary Wednesday, 3 years ago, I escaped my labyrinth, it was the last time I hurt myself. For the sake of storytelling, I wish there was some “come to Jesus moment”, where I swore to myself and to God that I would never hurt myself again. But there never was. If you were to ask me right now, I’d say I just slowly began to realize that self harm wasn’t getting me anywhere, that I was never gonna find true life by constantly doing it. Also, perhaps when I started high school, I was more open to being happy and more able to take actual steps towards self improvement. I’m not 100% sure.

All of that brings me here today, three years later. It’s been a long journey of trying to fix my mindset, learning more about Jesus, and developing ways to cope with hard thoughts and emotions. I am a lot happier and a lot more emotionally mature than I was in that stage of my life. Granted, everyday isn’t perfect, I still have my struggles and stresses, but God has shown me there’s a little good in everyday. And I’m super grateful that I’m alive and sober. If I had to give a piece of advice to people in similar circumstances, I’d say to start off by doing small things to improve yourself, then be patient for change to come about. So while September 1st may not be really important to most people, to me it’s a reminder of how no matter how hard today may be, that there’s always hope in tomorrow.