To Write Love on Her Arms

If you could imagine for a moment what it would be like to be in so much emotional pain that doing something like cutting your arm or pulling your hair, causing physical pain to yourself seems to be the only way to make that emotional pain go away. It’s never a resolution but only for an instant is it relief. Over 120 million people worldwide suffer from depression and about 4% of the population cope with that depression by way of self mutilation. Self mutilation is not only very unhealthy but also very addicting. An organization exists to raise awareness for depression and self mutilation. TWLOHA (to write love on her arms) has been around since 2006. Today they have asked people to write “love” on their arms to raise awareness for this problem.

What makes me passionate about this cause? Well 2 people in my life (that I know of) have struggled with “cutting”, a form of self mutilation. The first is Andy, a 27 year old boy I’ve known since we were small children. At times I’ve referred to him as my brother and others my friend. His life has led him down a path of self destruction. Trouble with the law along with alcoholism has been a common trend in his life for the past 8-9 years. Not only has his destructive life style hurt his family and friends but has also made him a non functioning member of society. I have a great amount of love for my brother but have not been able to have a healthy relationship with him in years. My hope is not that you will think ill of him or consider him a bad person but just understand the pain he carries. I am choosing not to list the tribulation in Andy’s life. Truthfully I don’t think I know all of what he deals with. I’ve seen him go from bad to worse in the last 8 years. I’ve also seen a few good things as well. Where no one looks forward to jail, he was able to spend some time reading the bible in jail and was baptized a couple years ago at Calvary Chapel. I do believe that he can be healed of his illness and I continue to pray for him.

I am the second person. In my teenage years I had struggled with a mild depression, never severe enough for attempted suicide and mine was most often treated with medication. **The rest of this paragraph may be too graphic for some, just a warning** the problem with my cutting was my increasing curiosity for how deep I could go. Eventually knife blades and my own finger nails could not give me the results I wanted. I’ve long since forgotten the trigger that caused me to go for the Lady Bic sitting on the edge of the bathtub, but it didn’t take much to break it open. I stood over the sink with the floppy razor blade and put two tiny cuts into my wrist. I can’t remember or begin to imagine what made me thing to push harder but I decided to do it again, this time cutting deep into my wrist after watching what was happening, I grabbed a hold of my wrist to stop the flow of blood. For a few minutes I just sat on my bed trying to think of ways I could cover my wrist without anyone noticing, but since I couldn’t even move my hand without blood pouring out (and I hated the sight of blood) I eventually decided to walk down stairs and wake my mom up. She took me to the ER and I got 8 stitches. Before I could leave the hospital, I met with a lady who was pretty much convinced it was a suicide attempt and it seemed easier to tell her what she wanted to hear that to try and explain what was really going on with me. I would tell people that I just wanted to see what it looked like, or that I was seeking attention (when really I wasn’t even thinking of the attention when I was doing it, in fact I totally believed I would be able to hide it). There was no support, just medication. My parent’s disappointment was my punishment. I’m ashamed to say it wasn’t the last time that I ever used self mutilation to cope with my despair; I just stayed away from knives and razors after that. I didn’t do it often, and when I did I usually dug at my skin with my fingernails or pounded my fists into a wall or, at times, against my legs. I would also grab a fistful of hair and pull. I never admitted I had a problem because the way I saw it was that I wasn’t as bad as most. As far as I was concerned I had it under control. I never sought help and it wasn’t until sometime in 2007 after I made Jesus Lord of my life that I realized I was totally free from that bondage. It hadn’t ever happened very often, but I knew it was over. Most of the people in my life, even my closest friends would have never known that part of my life. I decided to share this with you all today, on this day that TWLOHA has asked that we write “love” on our arms, because I’m hoping that someone out there can see that there is help out there and that you can be set free from the pain of depression. My case may not be that bad, but others out there are suffering. If you or someone you know is dealing with depression please go to their website. www.twloha.com