Children and young people explain self-harm

You need to move on

That’s what everyone says

You can’t hold on to the past forever

But the marks from the past leave stains

Stains that go so deep into my flesh

But still I am told I need to start fresh

But they don’t know what my past holds

How could they know if they were never told

But still they say I need to move on

But how can I get over something if the feeling is not gone

They always want me to describe my feelings.

The problem is I can’t feel a thing.

My mind is steel wool,

my vision distorted in grey clouds.

If anything manages to infiltrate the numbness,

it’s an abrasive thought

scratching the surface of my brain.

I don’t even feel the pain, just more sadness.

There is a young girl too afraid to breathe.

She is soft with a range of rough edges she wishes she could smooth out.

The world has instilled an idea of perfection into her mind.

Chiselled an acidic thought into her alkali mind.

She is stunning, breath taking.

Every time someone dares mention her beauty she blurts out utterances of flaws. Hundreds of poisonous lies spew from her mouth.

Have you ever watched a rose shudder at the mere thought that it could be beautiful?

I have.

Each time she traces a delicate hand over her figure while her mistaken eyes burn into the mirror, she wishes it would set alight.

There was a time, it felt like an age, when she refused to allow any trace of food to pass her lips.

She locked herself away with merely a lighter and the suffocating abyss of black.

I watched as she decayed, my voice drowned out in the ocean of wicked words that
overwhelmed her.

She was destroying herself. Did she know?

Every day felt like a year.

One day I remember looking up.

I saw her.

She seemed different.

She was smiling, genuinely smiling.

I gazed after her as she hugged her friends tight and allowed a smile to light her features.

She was recovering.

Though I will never understand how she picked herself up whilst completely alone,

I am proud of the person that I never knew but always understood.

She finally chose to live.

She knows she is worth this life.

We both stop and look up into the bare, black branches and in a quiet voice I tell him, “It’s a robin” and together we listen to its song. “Did you know,” I say, “that robins eat fish?”

Austin bursts out laughing, loudly.

“It is true!” I protest and then I’m giggling too because it does sound a bit nuts and Austin laughing makes me laugh more.

“Where do robins get fish round here?” He asks.

“Ponds, rivers, The ASDA. I dunno!!” The robin has stopped singing.

“Will it sing again?” He asks.

“If you shut up he might.” I whisper.

“But how do you it’s a ‘he?’”

“I just do.”

Dad taught me all the different songs and calls the male and female birds make. And then the robin sings! And we look at each other with such excitement. A little bit of magic on this grey, Kirkby, horrid pancake breakfast, freezing morning.

“I can’t see him.” Austin is looking up into the tree.

“There he is.” I whisper as I point up into the branches, hanging over us.

“Oh wow!” Says Austin but then his tone changes from wonder to concern as he spots the scratches and cuts on my arms as the sleeves of my coat rise up.

“You OK?“ He asks.

I pull my sleeve down.

“Yes.” I reply, sharply.

“What were they?” He asks

“You loving my gorgeous, gold nails?” I say all dramatically, displaying my pretty nails and desperately trying to change the subject.

“Them scratches. The marks.”

I shove my hands in my pockets.

“Nottin Austin. Just leave it please.”

“Then why you hiding your arm? If it’s nottin.”

“Shut up Austin” I snap.

“No need to be so rude Autumn.”

“I’m not being rude.” And I notice I have gone from whispering to shouting in a matter of seconds. The robin flies off. I walk away from Austin and this conversation because I don’t want to keep being horrible to him.

God, I’m feeling all guilty for shouting at him, so I turn around, try to be all upbeat and say, “Come on then soft lad.” He catches up with me and we walk in silence for a few minutes and turn into Morston Avenue.

“Just couldn’t help but see them.” says Austin

“I scratched myself on all the brambles and thorns in Spinney Woods alright?” I lie.

“What you doin up there like?”

 “Can’t you just leave it?” I shout and I really am quite shocked at how angry I’ve become and so quickly.