Hurricane

An open letter to self-harm

Dear Self-harm, I. hate. you. Please leave me alone. You whisper in my ear. Telling me to prove myself and more. Telling me that no one will have me. Telling me I’m a joke, a liar, a hypocrite.


 

 

 

February 7, 2017 photo by Helio C. Vital in Rio.

 

Explorative art piece: Whirlwinds and funnel cloud

 

Dear Self-harm,

I. hate. you. Please leave me alone.

You whisper in my ear. Telling me to prove myself and more. Telling me that no one will have me. Telling me I’m a joke, a liar, a hypocrite.

Someone not good enough. Not real enough. Not brave enough.

I need you to shut up. Please, please, can’t you see that I’m already struggling hard enough?

That I’m human. Which means imperfection. That it stands to reason that my feelings would be messy and all runny, but that my body doesn’t have to be bruised and bloody.

Please, can’t you just show me some compassion? I know you’re hurting, and that that’s making you a little nasty. But there’s no need to use such methods on me, is there, really?

I know you and I want you to stop, listen, and wait for the rainbow beyond our storm.

For you to finally see and value me,

Without marks. Without burns. Without accidents.

Without secrets and all those little, tender, hurts.

Please stay, and be with me

not as a hurricane of self-inflicted fury,

but as the real, raw me. I know you’re still in there somewhere.

I’m sorry for hurting our body.

I’m sorry for pushing you away.

I want you, the real you

to stay.

Love,
Your Body.

 

 



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