Victoria Leatham

“Relief was what I was looking for that day, and I didn’t care how I got it. What I wanted - what I needed - was a pain that I could see and deal with. I couldn’t cope with the mess inside of me any longer, and cutting myself seemed to be the best solution. I knew that it would work. What I didn’t know was that I was about t engage in a behavior that was not just dangerous but highly, highly addictive.”

“I had no idea that the simple act of running a sharp blade across my wrist would change everything so completely.I wasn’t after happiness anymore. I just wanted to survive.”

“What I wanted was a simple response. I didn’t want to feel, that was too difficult. I wanted to hurt, I wanted real, tangible, physical pain. That I could understand.”

“An increasingly large part of me believed that this was it, this was my life and it wasn’t going to get better. The problem was me.”

“I didn’t feel that I had any good qualities. Or rather, none were good enough. Nothing I did or said was good enough, but I couldn’t make anyone understand the way I felt.”

“For the first time in months, I felt together. Sharp. In hurting myself, I had at last found a way to release the pressure.But it was more than that. I was now different. I felt different. I’d discovered a way to control my feelings. Just because self-mutilation wasn’t deemed an acceptable coping mechanism didn’t mean I was going to stop doing it”

“Some days, it was enough just to know that I had a packet of blades in the house. They were a cold, very sharp, security blanket.”

“If people could just understand how it actually felt to be depressed, obsessed, frightened, out of control, maybe they’d be more tolerant, more understanding.”

“Have you ever had a lyric from a really crappy song or advertising jingle get stuck in your head? Something that just won't go away, no matter how much you don't want it to be there?Imagine if, instead of a silly piece of music, it was an image. Imagine that image was something you found disturbing; say, rivers of rich burgundy blood gushing from slashes in your forearms.What if, instead of this being a fleeting, irritating image, it took hold in your mind. It would be there on waking, it would push itself into your thoughts while you were watching television, driving, sitting at your desk. What if, gradually, your mind became your own personal continuously screening horror movie, starring yourself.What would you do? Would you feel compelled to act on these thoughts? Do you think, if you did, it would help? Would you think yourself mad?Would you tell anyone?”