Cutting

Today, my name is Diana. And I had a problem. Whenever I am sad, or whenever I am in a situation where I just cannot handle it, I will pick up a knife, and start cutting myself. Yes, I am a cutter. And this is my story.

As all stories start, I wasn't always like this. I was normal. Slightly odd maybe, but normal. The thing is, I'm sensitive. And I don't always take things the right way. Even if it was just a tease, or just a joke, I would be likely to take things the wrong way and start over thinking things. In the end, all that negative thoughts inside me needed an outlet to  be released. That's when I turned to cutting.

Many people ask me after, why cutting? How did it even help? To me, physical pain diverted my thoughts away from the mental pain I had accumulated over the years. With every cut, the slice of pain will distract me from thinking too much. With every drop of blood I spill, my brain is focused on my physical condition rather than my mental condition.

It went on for a number of years. Long sleeves hid my wounds. And when my arms had too many cuts, my legs and my back was next. At one point, the pain from the was wounds were so severe, I could not even lift my hands, let alone hold my books and pens. Wounds, so deep, they will take years for the scars to fade. None of my friends realized. And I faked my smile everyday, never telling...

I was just running away. What I was doing, it was wrong. And I knew it.

The pain was addicting. To draw the knife over my flesh again and again. To see my blood trail down and drip onto the ground. To sit there, so dazed from pain, that it leaves no room for any emotional instability to haunt me. Pain, sometimes so great, it was all I could think about. Those brief moments were my safe haven. A ward to fend of the thoughts that were slowly driving me crazy. You could say that it was like a drug to me. A drug that brought me on high that I couldn't get enough of.

Eventually, someone found out. Perhaps I did not bandage my wounds properly, or that somehow I must have strained the wound. But whichever the case, my blood started flowing freely, staining my clothes red. Of course I tried to hide, but a friend noticed right away, and was horrified. For some strange reason, I couldn't staunch the blood flow. My friend desperately tried as well. And seeing all the blood on his hands as well as my own, I lost it. Pain and fear gripped me. The physical pain that had comforted and distracted me before, became demons and lashed right back at me.

Mental and physical trauma. Both at the same time. I don't know when I stopped screaming, or when the shivering stopped. I don't remember anything. All I remember was the amount of blood everywhere, and how it all seems to press down on me. Of how my blood seems to curl around me to strangle me. Of how my blood dirtied everything it touched. I couldn't think of anything else. Couldn't see pass the blood and see my friends who were in panic. I totally snapped. Couldn't fight it anymore.

To be honest, I can't remember exactly what happened. I don't remember what made me stop. Maybe it was my friend's support. Maybe I just started to see right and wrong. A combination of both maybe, I don't know. But I stopped.

The healing process was painful. For the urge to stop cutting to fade. To share my problems instead of hiding it. Truth be told, till today, the urge to simply pick up a knife and cut myself is so strong, it takes all my self control not to. But I have friends now, companions, that help me fight that urge. To channel it to something better, more productive.

My name is Diana, and I have a message for you. If you are like me, I understand how you feel. I understand the need to distract the train of thoughts that torture us so. But I want to tell you this. Physical pain can only distract us for so long. To share it out, to find a friend who listens and helps. It works far better than slicing ourselves open. Only then can the healing of the mind begin. We have to stop running away.

I am better now. The urge to cut has not totally dissipated, but I am learning to control it now. I am happier and also a lot less conflicted. I found friends, and I know you can too.

Verbal Abuse

Today, my name is Susie. And I am a victim of verbal abuse. Many people might think back to the old proverb. Something about sticks and stone breaking bones, but words will never hurt. It's all a lie.  Nothing but a phrase invented by the dominant to placate the weak. To me, words hit harder than anything else. Words can free a person, and can also bind them. To free them from pain, or to bind them to it. And for me, I am trapped. Chained, binded, captured... Stuck.

I wasn't always like this. When I was still a young girl, I was the sort that would take on the world with the confidence that I could do it. I was confident, but not overly so. I was bubbly and happy. The life of the party, you could say. I don't know exactly when it hit me. But hit me it did. A hard hit right in the gut. And I couldn't shake them off anymore.

At first it was small words. Loud, noisy, too playful, too naughty. Things that a young kid wouldn't really take to heart. But as I grew older, I started to feel the chains attached to them. Chains that stopped me from running forward anymore. Arrogant, bossy, bitchy, naggy. Words poured out from all sorts of people. It binded me. And I couldn't free myself from the web of chains that has been spun around me.

The strongest, most unbreakable chains were that of the people I loved most. My parents; Useless, hopeless, stupid, not the brain child, why can't you be better, why aren't you as good as that child, why must you be such a moron... My lover; Bossy, bitchy, naggy, not good enough, you can't do it, give up, why can't you be more beautiful, why can't you just sit at home and settle down... Everything... Why why why why why...

I will never be good enough, never be the perfect friend, never be the perfect child, never be the perfect lover, never be the perfect wife. I will never be good enough at what I do. I don't deserve to be happy. I don't deserve to live. Thoughts like these, everyday, every hour, every minute, every second. I put on a fake smile everyday. People think I'm alright. Sometimes, without meaning to, they bind me some more.

I can't move... I can't breathe... I can't get free... I don't want to live like this anymore.

I fell into depression most of the time. Whenever I was alone, all I could do was sit in a ball in the the corner of my room. Trying to get the voices out of my head. Trying to shake off the chains that were suffocating me. I would cry, I would scream. I broke the things around me and I would tear things apart. I couldn't handle it. I gave up. I did all sorts stupid things. I was reckless. I attempted suicide many times, and a few came pretty close. I didn't want to live. I felt that I didn't deserve to. No right to take up a space in this world.

One day something changed. The act that I put on and fooled so many people, it didn't seem to work on some. They saw right through me. And that's when they started to reach out. I shunned them aside. Believing that I didn't need it. Trusting the voices that I don't deserve it. But they were all persistent. They approached me slowly, encouraging me and coaxing me. It took some time, but in the end I broke down. And everything poured like water from a broken dam.

Today, I have better friends who are trying to free me. Friends who believe in me and are trying to free me. To relight that candle that others have blown out and dampen over and over again. Slowly, one by one, my chains are being snapped. Some chains are bounded so tightly, it'll take some time to  even loosen. Some chains, I just refuse to let so because I've embraced it so tightly. But I'm starting to believe. Slowly, my fire will relight. Slowly but surely, I'll be free.

My name is Susie, and this is my message to you. Be careful of what you say. Because no matter how jokingly you say it, unconsciously, it will bind a person. Many that could not cope, did not find help in time, or didn't even reach out for the help that was give; those people chose to just end it all. I was lucky enough to have friends that continued reaching out no matter what happen.

If you are a victim like me, this is my advise. You're not useless or hopeless. Don't think that you can't accept the help just because you think you don't deserve it. No one deserves to be dragged down like this. Absolutely no one. Reach out, and take the hand that's extended to you, and free yourself before it's too late.

I'm happier now. I'm healing. And now it's my turn to return that favor.

Rape

This day, my name is Rachel. And I am a victim of rape. It happened in the most unexpected way. And it happened with someone I thought I could trust. I never should have trusted that man. Never should have allowed that to happen. Should have fought back, should have done something. But I didn't. And all I am now is just a broken husk. Shattered, irreparable. What should I do?

He was the man I thought loved me. And initially, for the first couple of month, we were happy. The honey moon period, I call it. Love blinded me. I trusted him with everything I had. We talked about the future that we were sure we would have together. Trust, hope, love... I had it all. And I was happy. But it didn't last for long.

After a certain period, we started getting too comfortable. That love craze that we initially had finally died down. Though we still loved each other, it wasn't the same anymore. And I didn't care. That was my mistake. That I didn't care, didn't do anything about it. Eventually, all we did was tolerate each other. Arguments over small things that didn't use to bother us, we yelled and shouted at each other. We drifted apart. That was when we began to see each other without that love filming our eyes.

He hated women standing above him. He wanted to be the dominant, the leader, the first. And I allowed it. That was my second mistake. For allowing it to happen. Eventually, he tried to dictate everything that I did. And I hated it. Hatred replaced love. Anger and bitterness replaced affection. I knew it was time to end this.

It was the last straw in our relationship. Accusations. The insults and accuses the threw at me hurt worse than when we had argued. All that trust we built? Gone in an instant. It's funny, how trust can take so long to built, but shatter in a second. Like a house of card. Fragile, with a single mistake, destroyed. I had to end it. And end it we did. He asked to remain friends, I agreed. That was my final mistake.

It happened when I was sick. He dropped by to buy me some food. I was still drowsy from the medication I had taken. I told him that he could use the computers or watch some telly. Then I went to my bed. I fell asleep almost instantly. But when I awoke, I awoke to pain. By the time I realized, it was too late. I screamed, I begged. I cried, I tried fighting back. But nothing changed. Fear, pain, anger, shock... The number of emotions conflicting in my mind numbed me. The last shred of trust I had for this man? Gone. All I could do, was to wait for it all to finish.

After he left, I cried. No sleep, no food. Just a broken body, slumped in my room from shock. The pain was unbearable, a reminder of the horror that I went through. I couldn't recover, couldn't stand up again. But time forced me moved on. Everyday at work I see him, anger, hate and bitterness well up inside me.

Till today, I cannot forgive. Till today, I cannot forget. Till today, I bleed on the inside. Remembering that day. Nightmares prevent me from sleeping. Memories prevents me from eating. Everyday has turned into a living hell for me. I still don't know what to do

My name is Rachel, and this is my story. I don't know what to do anymore. I don't want to live anymore. So please, someone.... help me....

To papa, with love from us all

It's been a little more than 2 years since then. Even longer since it all started. From the day we received the horrifying news. My father had brain tumor.
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I was 15 when we received the news. It was only a few weeks after my brother got married. I remember the crying, the agony, the tension and the intense shock that shrouded us all. But there was also a determination. My father was a strong man, he would pull through, see that he doesn't.

And he did. The first operation was a success. And my father was awake and alert within hours of the operation. We were all thrilled. Of course there's still a way to go for recovery, but we were all so giddy with joy and relief. A miracle, a hope fulfilled. My father recovered quickly. He even continued working. It was all looking good, till the tumor relapsed with a vengeance. Everything plummet downhill again.
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The second surgery too was a success, but father did not recover as fast. 2 major surgery within such a short span of time was taxing. But recovery was hopeful. However, the doctor warned us. Father needed rest. Lots and lots of it. Should it relapse another time, there would be nothing much he could do. And so we all urged my father to rest more. Treading carefully around him, careful not to anger him, doing thing for him instead. But father was an energetic man, restless in his time of rest. He couldn't keep still, he needed to work. And so my mother relented. For a year, it was the careful dance of keeping my father well rested but not restless. When it seemed that all would go well, life turned back to bite us on the rear again. Hard. A third relapse.
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This time the doctor was in despair. It was larger than before with a lot more problems arising. In the end my parents went through countless other treatments. Even going all the way to China for a month. In the end, it wasn't enough. My father was soon bed ridden, forced to lie on the bed without the energy to move anymore, unable to do anything for himself. Saying it was hard on us all will never compare to what my mother felt. She took care of him, nursed him, chatted away with my father, all the while desperately trying to find a way out, to find another treatment that would work. All in vain.
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It was slightly more than a year after my grandfather's death. That night, we all stood around my father's bed, and we all knew that it was time. The time to let go soon. We all tried to sleep, but of course we couldn't. And he finally slipped away that day, with my mother clinging on so desperately, and us siblings crying in anguish at the side. My eldest brother and his wife lock to each other for comfort, and my other brothers patting each others back. I stood at the back alone, crying. But my mind was blank, and pain in my heart unbearable. Father was gone, and there was nothing I could do to bring him back.

Again, I found myself in the same process as did my grandfather's passing before this. This time however, that 5 days were hell. While my grandfather had ignored me most of the time, my father loved me dearly, which made it that much harder. We couldn't sleep, couldn't choke down the food laid before us. My family all had that haunted. bloodshot eyes. But I stopped crying. For my mother's sake, who can barely hold it together, I had to be strong for her, and be her rock to hold on to. But on that final day, before closing his coffin, tears slid down without a stop, even as I desperately tried to hold back. Everyone was crying in earnest, none of us able to say our farewells, as the cover was nailed shut.

As was with my grandfather the previous year, it was bright and sunny. And I watched, shovel after shovel of dirt being thrown in. Tears were still flowing freely down, but I quickly wiped them away. Father would never want us to be like this. And so I pulled myself together. As we all walked away, I lingered behind and turn back. I said silent message to dad, "Watch, and I promise I'll try to make you proud."
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It's been 2 years since then. 2 years to gather my courage and write this. And I still miss him, my father. He was a great man. Passionate, dedicated, caring and understanding. He was strong and energetic, always playing badminton and golf. Running marathons and hiking. More than that, he loved us all. It's so hard to think that a strong man like father would be gone just like that, with still so much to live for. Till today, I wish I had done more. Spend more time with him. Bring in better report cards. Buying him surprises, or even just chatting with him about my day. Something, anything at all as long as it was something. But time that has gone will never come back, and all that remains is regret. As to whether I made my father proud, I'm not sure. I'm sure there are times where he'll be deeply disappointed, but I still hope that I've made him proud as well.
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Dear papa,

If you're reading this from behind my back, are you smiling? Have I done you proud? I will never know. But papa, I miss you, and so do the rest of us. Please take care of mommy from above. Mommy misses you like crazy. She still cries every now and then, and we all know it. She's working now, where you were working all these years. And she's so burnt out. My brothers are all so tired as well. Please watch over them all. I love you.

Your Daughter,
Mei Mei

To Grandpa, With love from Me

A wail jolted me awake in the dead of that December night, chilling me right to the bone despite of the heat. I never knew what happened until the next morning. And when I did, I was horror struck. I learned that my grandfather has passed away.

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The next 5 days were taxing on our family. People who knew my grandfather came to give their respects. And we had to give a proper show to all. In truth, I didn't feel sad at first. I felt nothing, numb. It would seem that in the whole clan, I was the only unaffected one. However, the truth was that I didn't know what to feel. But my feelings surfaced as I stood in front of grandfather's coffin as we all gave our personal messages to him.

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I've never seen my relatives shed a tear, much less cry. But that day, tears streamed from all of them. Heartbreaking sobs tore from all 3 sons of my grandfather. My grandmother, trying to be strong, broke down as well as she saw the peaceful look of my deceased grandfather. Yet I stood there, yet to feel anything. However that was soon to change.

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My uncles and my father tried to choke back their sobs to speak, to say their final good byes. Then, it was our turn, his grandchildren, too speak. One by one, I watched my brothers and cousins break down and cried as they tried to speak, heartbreaking sobs tearing from their lungs. Soon it was my turn. I stood there, looking at my grandfather. He looked so much more at peace now, smiling a little even. I was stunned when tears slid down my face, and sobs struggled to break through.

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Later that day, as we stood together as a family at the foot of grandfather's grave with our beloved friends surrounding us, I couldn't help but feel that the weather, which was bright and sunny with a slight breeze, was an insult to the atmosphere. As I stood there, watching shovel by shovel as the earth was shovelled back into the grave, memories washed over me so strongly that, for the moment, I wasn't there.

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I was born late into Grandpa's life. So he didn't really take much notice of me. But I always suspected that it was also because I was a female. Grandpa migrated from China to Malaysia with a few other of his clan members to find a new life. He started as out as a hard labourer, and slowly but surely, gave birth to his very own company, which the family now takes over.

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Despite ignoring me most of the time, he was a compassionate man, a kind man. He was the type off man that would show his love for his family by providing with abundance. And provide he did. He was a man of his word. Everything seemed so well, until he was plagued with an illnesses that crippled him for life.

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For the first few years, he refused to give in the sickness. He continued with his daily routine, rising early to go to work, returning home only when everyone went home. He never complained to us about the pain that we knew was so great. I remembered once, to show us youngsters how strong he still was, he challenged us all to an arm wrestling game. We all lost. How he had laughed at our stunned faces as we lost.

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His health took a turn for a worse as time passed. Soon, he couldnt talk anymore, and his body grew weak. Because he could not swallow, a tube was inserted at his stomach to feed him with. His pain was so unbearable for all of us to watch, and yet he suffered in silence, groaning only when he thought we couldn't hear. We were all so helpless to help him. All we could do was to stand by, powerless, as the sickness slowly consumed him.

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Through it all, from what I have heard, grandfather was a fine man. Brave, courageous, hardworking, honest, and many more. All the qualities that so many lack, yet grandfather had in abundance. With his hard work, he left behind a legacy that we would all strive to keep and protect, his memories and his company. And despite it all, he really did love us all.

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As the men finally shoveled the last of the earth in and patted it down evenly, everyone started to move on. As I stood there, with the breeze blowing through my hair gently, I changed my mind. This weather isn't an insult, but a blessing from grandpa. A sign that we should move on in life, that situations, though sad, always had a bright side to it. I looked up into the blue sky, the tears long dried, and gave a small smile. I love you grandpa, I whispered, and ran towards my family who stood waiting for me to return home, together.

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Grandfather, I know you can see my heart now, and I want to say this. I wish I could have known you better, and have more cheerful memories of you. I wish I had managed to done more to ease your sufferings. More than any of that, I wish that I could have had the chance to say this. I love you grandpa, though you're gone, I am glad that you are out of your sufferings. We will all dearly miss you.

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He who has gone, so we but cherish his memory, abides with us, more potent, nay, more present than the living man.
Antoine de Saint-Exupery