Follow the true story of my struggle with self-injury, bulimia, and my own mind.
Constant anxiety and an abusive past brought me to intentionally, and repeatedly cut my leg, burn my wrist, and beat my arm with a wrench.
I was admitted to a psychiatric ward. My fear of regaining the weight I lost, and losing my violent means of coping, causes me to fight against the help I so desperately needed.
I went where all the rules were made for me and I had to obey.
People cried out in fits. I've seen them destroy the things in their path. I've heard the staff call for security and, moments later, I'd see the patient get carried away by a dozen strong men. Soon, that patient was tied to a bed in an isolation room.
My heart ached for those that got tied down. I had no idea that I would soon become one of them.
Let me tell you about how I dealt with the loss of my secrets, and how my family reacted to my need to bleed. Let me introduce you to the unique men and women admitted to the ward alongside me. Let me tell you what all this was like for me.
This story has descriptive detail of acts of self-injury. I warn you of triggering content.