First Cut is the Deepest

“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me!" ~ Philippians 4:13

Late October was Jayne’s anniversary and the best month for a walk in the park.  The wind was not yet icy; the once turquoise sky had now turned dusty grey. 

All that’s left is silence, broken intermittently by the rustling of dry, aged leaves.  The perfect noise!  Not deathly silent; just enough for self-reflection; what she did, what she failed to do and what she was about to become.  Sobering thoughts, painful memories - a time so close yet so distant.

Thirty days ago she curled her bare toes against the bathmat, trying to feel sorry for her arms, to feel regret, or pain, or sadness.  But numbness paralyzed her.  She stared at the scars lining her wrists, observing them as if from a great distance.  Other days Jayne would count them and their meanings; one for every time she'd hated herself.

 

Jayne cut herself to stop the emotional pain - agony that most people have never felt.  She didn’t want attention – she needed someone to understand.

It had been scary the first time but after that it became easier.  As the blade shimmered between her clumsy fingers, her head would tilt back, her mouth open in silent torture but also perverse joy.  She knew that she shouldn’t be feeling this, doing this, enjoying this as she did.  

Jayne focused on the injury as the reason for her pain and felt a sense of control.  Endorphins screamed through her body creating a sense of euphoria, of well-being.

She never wanted to die or cause serious injury.  Cutting made her brave.  She’d been surprised by the rush, the emotional release that greeted her as blood filled her palm.  Adrenaline pushed Jayne to cut deeper and more often.

Then she’d kneel on the cold tile floor exhausted against the bathroom cabinet.  How pale and fragile her skin had looked - still looks.

One week ago the urge was so strong that Jayne clenched her fists to keep from reaching for the blade.  It was so tempting; so painfully seductive.  She forced her fingers to remain so tightly closed that the tips of her fingers burned.

“Lord, hold my hand,” she prayed “Walk me through the dark places I need to go through.  Stay with me as long as it takes, until my hands cramp with fatigue and the urge disappears.” 

Because she must conquer this addiction.  Because she can do all things through Christ.  Because of the six words she kept repeating in her mind, kept vowing, swearing to herself: “I will never draw blood again!” 

Today was Jayne’s anniversary – 7 days since she stopped hurting herself . . . and counting.

The Lord is my armor.  Today I’m putting on my shoes of peace, my belt of truth, my armor of virtue, my helmet of salvation, my shield of faith and my sword of the spirit.  I will speak the word of God when I’m under attack.  Amen