For The Ones Who Cut.

I know you hate yourself. Sometimes I hate me too. Sometimes the voices grow louder and they tell me that I’m no good. That I don’t deserve this life and that others don’t need me. Cut. Cut. Cut. The voices whisper. There’s a scar for everything, isn’t there? Your wrists have become canvases, painted in blood for every time you were belittled, taken advantage of and destroyed by their words. It’s curious how a vibrating noise ringing through the vocal cords of a careless person can dehumanize another with the flick of their tongue.

It’s curious how a vibrating noise ringing through the vocal cords of a careless person can dehumanize another with the flick of their tongue.

There’s a cut isn’t there? For every time your father took his aggression out on your mother. For every time your friends told you that you’re a disappointment. For every time you felt worthless, unloved, unwanted, betrayed or forgotten.

You fight the feeling of being in your own skin. Anxiety and Depression are always just around the corner waiting for you to mess up and carry the weight of your actions. They’re a constant reminder that you aren’t perfect, but they’re also a reminder that you’re worthless, unloved, unwanted, betrayed, and forgotten – and guess what. They’re wrong about those things.

The wounds, they’re fresh right now. They’re deep, ugly and raw. They might feel like a form of release in the moment, but there’s always a dark sense of regret that follows. They will heal though, if you give them time. If you nurture them, bandage them, and stop contributing to them, they will heal. The scars though, they will remain, and that’s okay. They are nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed about, for they are simply a part of your story – and a person’s story is everything. It matters.

It matters that you are still alive. It matters that you are still here. It matters that despite every tidalwave that life has thrown at you, you’ve overcome. It may not have been pretty. You might’ve believed the world was going to end, but you’re still here. The scars will remind you that you’ve ridden those crashing waves. You’ve been tossed about in the sea and your head has gone under more times than you can count, but you haven’t drowned. You won’t drown.

You’ll learn to silence Anxiety and Depression because they’re only there to point out your flaws, and you already know you’re flawed, because we all are. I especially am. I am nowhere near perfect. I make mistakes. I’ve hurt others. We all have. But, the beauty of life is that it goes on. That there is forgiveness. There is hope for a clean start with each new sunrise. There’s no more room for Anxiety and Depression to tell you who you are and who you aren’t. Only you get to decide that.

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You are stronger than any voices. You are courageous, brave, incredible and dauntless. You’re a fighter. You’re a never-give-upper – and that’s rare. You are going to change the world with your story, because it needs to be heard. You were put on this earth in this very era of time for a purpose. There are people you will change and people who will change you. So, next time the voices whisper “pick up that blade” – instead, pick up a pen and write down your story. Share it with the world, because there’s people out there who need to hear it. There are people out there who are walking through the same darkness and battling the same demons.

Be the vibrating noise ringing through a set of vocal cords who’s only purpose is to speak life and be a light for others fighting the same battle. Be the light.

Be the vibrating noise ringing through a set of vocal cords who’s only purpose is to speak life and be a light for others fighting the same battle. Be the light. Be the hope that others need to hear. Be the light that others need to see. Be the story that inspires and evokes change. Be the love that makes people believe that there truly is good in this world – and if that is too much to ask. If that is beyond what you are capable of accomplishing today, then above all else – just please, don’t give in.

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