I was a cutter. I want to own “was” a cutter, because I do not want to feed that monster no more. Triggers can sometimes bring back this self-destructive behavior. Being born intersex, and not being able to be my authentic gender, messed me up bad. You see, I was assigned a girl, when I was never a girl.
My cutting was the worse during my strange adolescence. While cisgender boys were becoming men, and cisgender girls were becoming woman. My body did not develop ordinarily so, and I definitely did not feel I was a girl.
With much psychiatric intervention, several times I went through, and survived, what would now be called “conversion therapy”. Everyone wanted to assure I remain a girl! After all the experts at the time of my birth had to know, right? After all, how could a body like mine be a boy, let alone, and God forbid a gay boy! Thankfully I woke up to options, that would later save my life. You can read about me HERE.
I suffered horrendous emotional abuse from those who were supposed to protect me the most; my family. My parents were not given the proper support to raise an intersex child, so they were easily bullied and guided by a misinformed psychological and medical world. A world, thanks to John Money, who felt you could manipulate gender and sexual orientation by therapy and body shaming.
This lead to my becoming an escape artist, because my self-determination of knowing I was a non-conforming boy, who later identified as “gay” was not honored at all. Through cutting I got relief.
The IRONY of Cutting SAVING MY LIFE!
Cutting for me, actually saved my life though on many occasions. Oh the ironies of that one! Instead of simply committing suicide, cutting would give me enough relief to some how survive one more day, until I could come to terms with this world that made me invisible. Some how I have always found that place to want to live again.
Emancipation of my true Gender Stopped the Cutting.
Today, thanks to reclaiming my true gender I am not feeling the need to cut anymore. But of course, it is one day at a time for everything. I supposed with enough triggers, I could have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and revisit this ugly monster. I now know to call other cutters for help though. It is a small world, and cutters come in all genders, shapes and sizes. Related poems:
Poem: Dear Dad, Invisible is no way to live.
Poem: And Once the Storm is Over, I was Buried Alive
Poem: What happens when they raise a boy, a girl?
I was born perfect, and I am lovable. Thank you, United Nations.