Blood drips down her arm, drip, drop, drip, drop. The crimson mess caresses her skin, forming streams and rivers on her limb and fingers. To most, her cuts and scars are hidden. She seems like a normal kid. She does well in school and has a family that actually cares about her. Maybe some can see her pain, but it is so quickly covered that no one believes it’s actually there. She is perfect – what every other girl wants to be.
She is perfect, or so they think. What most don’t realize are the heavy expectations she and others put on her. Her friends expect her to stay happy and outgoing. Her parents expect an obedient daughter who doesn’t misbehave and doesn’t give into peer or hormonal pressure. The worst part is the heavy expectations she puts on herself because she knows others expect her to be perfect. She expects herself to be the perfect daughter and the caring, never complaining friend, but at the same time, she knows she can’t do it.
If she breaks down though, her world will fall apart. Crying is weakness. Letting people down is weakness. Emotion is weakness. When the world seems to look at her that way, what’s she supposed to do to feel alive? When a person is in so much emotional and mental pain that she can’t appear happy without lying, physical pain offers a relief. It’s easier to deal with physical pain than any other kind because there’s a focus or pinpoint on it. When a person cuts, she knows why she’s in pain and it gives her something to concentrate on other than the emotional turmoil.
What most adults and parents don’t realize is that we were never taught how to cope with emotional pain. It’s a topic that’s shushed at and ignored yet is very real. We aren’t a generation who knows how to cry about things; we aren’t a generation that knows how to deal with expectations we can’t reach. Our parents don’t realize that.
Cutting is our way of coping. At the same time though, it doesn’t have to be like that. We don’t have to cut. We can draw, we can scream, we can go beat a punching bag, anything. There are so many options out there like journaling or shopping. Personally, shopping and drawing are my coping mechanisms. Anything works so long as it distracts and makes us happy. Please though, I beg this, don’t cut, It’s not worth it.
Blood drips down her arm, drip, drop, drip, drop. The crimson mess caresses her skin forming streams and rivers on her limb and fingers. It splashes into the filling bathroom sink. The blood keeps falling, along with tears, until it drains out. The seemingly perfect girl has died a tragic death, a suicide. Her death was caused by expectations she couldn’t meet, yet felt pressured and scared to do so. No one ever tried to help her learn to live, to cope. She was lost, but it doesn’t have to be that way. Her parents didn’t know, her friends didn’t know. No one can help if they don’t know.