Okay, so I cheated a little bit on yesterday’s post because it was a question about Thanksgiving and the only thing I know about Thanksgiving is that you eat turkey and…and give thanks? So I casually bypassed that question 😛
If you could redo one moment in your life, what would it be and why? How would it change who you are now?
One single moment? Jeez. That’s a tricky one. I guess it would be the first time I picked up a razor and decided to use it on my skin rather than my bodily hair. Yeah, I know, it’s probably way too personal an answer but I guess it’s a personal question.
Back when I was eighteen, the three year quest to meet my father seemed to be at an end. I’d gotten into contact with both his brother and his mother and, naturally, I assumed I’d receive a text or a call off him himself.
And I did. Oh man, I was so excited. I’d spent years wondering what he would be like and had crafted these silly little fantasies, fantasies in which we’d do father/daughter things like, I dunno, go to the seaside or have family dinners.
He only ever texted, though. There were never any phone calls, but he did promise that we would meet. I believed him because why wouldn’t I? He was the one who reached out to me after all.
But on the day of the Royal Wedding in 2011, I received a text while I was at my friend’s house eating Union Jack cupcakes and drinking tea. It was my father. He said he’d changed his mind and didn’t, in fact, want to see me.
Having grown up living with my grandparents, it suddenly dawned on me that neither of my parents wanted me. Neither of my parents loved me. I began to question my self worth. What was so fucking wrong with me?
I felt worthless. I felt guilty for existing. I felt alone.
These emotions manifested into something bigger, something more. They became self-loathing and the only way I felt I could battle this demon was by taking a razor to my arms and legs. I did so on and off for three years, always making sure my cuts were in places I could easily cover. It wasn’t until I cut my leg just a little too deeply and panicked and called a close friend that I realized I needed help. My housemates had gone clubbing so my friend arrived to find me sobbing and covered in blood. She called an ambulance despite my screaming protests and accompanied me to the hospital, where she called my housemates. It wasn’t until they arrived, worried, scared and crying, that I realized that there were people who cared for me and wanted me.
Aside from a slip up a year or so later, I haven’t cut myself since. Sure, I still have thin, silvery scars crisscrossing my arms here and there, but I look at them as a testament to my survival and as a reminder: I don’t need the love, affection or approval of my father to be worthwhile. I’m a good person and I have so much to offer the world. My journey isn’t over yet and my father, quite frankly, can go fuck himself.
I have incredible friends. I have incredible grandparents and the relationship I have with my mother is so much better these days. If I hadn’t picked up that razor all those years ago, I definitely wouldn’t be who I was today and in a way, I wouldn’t want that. I’m stronger and wiser now. I just regret the years spent hiding away in shame and thinking my worth depended on other people.
Anyway. Thanks for listening/reading. I appreciate it.
If you ever feel this way, know that you are loved and you are needed. I love you. I need you. And so does the world! Check out the below links for further info on advice and support you can receive.