The Silent Scream, chapter 1
Growing up, I'm sure I seemed like any normal kid. In fact, I probably tried harder to fit in because I was an only child. But on the inside, I always felt like I was totally different - and not as worthy - than everyone else.
My parents divorced when I was 4, and that was really traumatic for me. I just didn't know how to deal with all of the fear and sadness I was feeling. Without thinking, I started scratching my arms and legs with my fingernails until I bled and, for some reason, that was always very comforting to me.
I already had skin problems, so my parents just thought I needed to see my dermatologist. But when the dermatologist told them I was scratching myself, they took me to my pediatrician for some answers. He suggested that I use a rubber band to snap on my wrist when I ever had to impulse to scratch myself, but that didn't work. My parents sent me to a therapist and, although that didn't stop me from scratching myself when I got scared, it was nice having a place to talk every week. Eventually, I was diagnosed with Attention Defict Disorder, so I was put on Ritilin, Concerta and sleep medications.
My life became even more stressful when I started sixth grade. I was living with my mom and was moved from a private school to a public school. Since I was "the new kid," I was teased every day, so I always came home crying. It was horrible. Sometimes, my mom would even have to come and get me or my teacher would send me to the nurse's office - which only made matters worse with the other kids in my class. My grades plummeted that year and, for the first time in my life, I got three D's.
When my mom saw my report card, she called my dad, and they both yelled at me. I felt totally ganged up on and just couldn't handle it at all. I ran to the bathroom, locked the door and picked frantically at my skin. Then, I noticed a hair clip on the counter. I was so angry and frustrated that I thought, "If I use this to cut myself, I'll feel better - and they'll understand how depressed I am." So I used the clip to cut myself on my arms, and blood poured out.
As odd as it sounds, I suddenly felt completely calm. My mom finally broke into the bathroom with a screwdriver and, when she saw that I was bleeding, she held me and cried. Right away, my parents realized they had been too hard on me and, although they did want me to get better grades, they came to the realization that my problem wasn't about slacking off at school.
After that, I always hid my scar. When anyone noticed it, I'd just say my cat scratched me. I think I was embarrassed because I was afraid people would think I was suicidal, which I wasn't. I just wanted to feel relaxed - and that's how I felt when I bled. I continued scratching, but I never cut myself with anything for the rest of that year.
My parents divorced when I was 4, and that was really traumatic for me. I just didn't know how to deal with all of the fear and sadness I was feeling. Without thinking, I started scratching my arms and legs with my fingernails until I bled and, for some reason, that was always very comforting to me.
I already had skin problems, so my parents just thought I needed to see my dermatologist. But when the dermatologist told them I was scratching myself, they took me to my pediatrician for some answers. He suggested that I use a rubber band to snap on my wrist when I ever had to impulse to scratch myself, but that didn't work. My parents sent me to a therapist and, although that didn't stop me from scratching myself when I got scared, it was nice having a place to talk every week. Eventually, I was diagnosed with Attention Defict Disorder, so I was put on Ritilin, Concerta and sleep medications.
My life became even more stressful when I started sixth grade. I was living with my mom and was moved from a private school to a public school. Since I was "the new kid," I was teased every day, so I always came home crying. It was horrible. Sometimes, my mom would even have to come and get me or my teacher would send me to the nurse's office - which only made matters worse with the other kids in my class. My grades plummeted that year and, for the first time in my life, I got three D's.
When my mom saw my report card, she called my dad, and they both yelled at me. I felt totally ganged up on and just couldn't handle it at all. I ran to the bathroom, locked the door and picked frantically at my skin. Then, I noticed a hair clip on the counter. I was so angry and frustrated that I thought, "If I use this to cut myself, I'll feel better - and they'll understand how depressed I am." So I used the clip to cut myself on my arms, and blood poured out.
As odd as it sounds, I suddenly felt completely calm. My mom finally broke into the bathroom with a screwdriver and, when she saw that I was bleeding, she held me and cried. Right away, my parents realized they had been too hard on me and, although they did want me to get better grades, they came to the realization that my problem wasn't about slacking off at school.
After that, I always hid my scar. When anyone noticed it, I'd just say my cat scratched me. I think I was embarrassed because I was afraid people would think I was suicidal, which I wasn't. I just wanted to feel relaxed - and that's how I felt when I bled. I continued scratching, but I never cut myself with anything for the rest of that year.
