Punching Holes... My Journey Into Self-Harm

 

Punching Holes... My Journey Into (and Out of) Self-harm

Light fades.

Saltwater flows.

Grief consumes.

Punching holes.

Desperately searching.

Freezing cold.

Feelings burn.

Punching holes.

Reaching out.

Tired soul.

Blood beads.

Punching holes.

Darkness falls.

Misery grows.

Going mad.

Punching holes.

Mind screaming.

Seeing sheol.

Now insane.

Punching holes.

Prayers uttered.

Thunder rolls.

Clouds shift.

Punching holes.

Rising up.

Climbing slow.

Crying less.

Punching holes.

Light peeks.

Igniting coals.

Quiet now,

Punching holes.

Pain drops.

Reality holds.

No longer

Punching holes.

******************************************************************************************************************

“Punching holes”. That’s what i called it.

I would huddle in a small out of the way space with a safety pin and jab holes into my wrist... right along the vein. I watched the blood pool. I remember the first time I did it, but I don’t remember where the notion came from. I had a safety pin. I had a wrist. It seemed like the thing to do at the time. I was very occupied with the sight of my own blood. It was so.... RED. Never one of my favorite colors... but I liked the sight of mine, right then, in that moment... and for many moments like it for a long time afterwards.

Someone referred to it as trying to kill the pain on the inside, buy hurting myself on the outside. That seems to me to be an over-simplification, but it was accurate. I did it to my right wrist a couple of times, then my mom saw the scabs that looked like I had scraped myself on a fence and asked me about it. I offered up the fence thing, then proceeded to make my upper thighs the new sites for my bloodlust. I had to jab harder and deeper. It hurt more. The sharpness of the pain kept me from going too deep, but at the same time, I embraced the pain. It was no big deal as far as I was concerned. Funny how we hide things, and then declare them to be “no big deal”. To be honest, I still don’t understand it. When pain hits me, I crave release from it. But then, I seem to go back and do the thing that hurt me again. At least, it used to be like that.

I stopped when my daughter was born. I started again when I lost her. I guess it really does follow that when I am in an uncontrollable amount of pain, I would inflict pain onto myself that I could control. Maybe it gave me a sense of power when I was at my weakest. I finally stopped for good when I found the right meds. I think they helped me regain control of my emotions, which led to me feeling better. Once the emotional pain was manageable, the physical pain lost its appeal. It took therapy, meds and making good choices for me to achieve real recovery. Now I enjoy not bleeding

Journaling Helps... Give It A Try!

YOUR STORY ISN'T OVER YET!

Mental health journal for the person who is in recovery, practicing self-care or just needs to express themselves. A great gift for the Mental Health Warriors! Pour out your thoughts and feelings and in reflection, see the progress you are making on your unique journey. "Your Story Isn't Over Yet" is printed across the cover.
Swirling shapes, colors and overlapping lines create a meditative rhythm that can lift your spirits — like stained glass caught in a slow tide. The teals and purples in the semi-colon embedded at the center represent suicide awareness, Can you see it? Click here to see in my web store!

Important: The semicolon (;) symbolizes mental health awareness, suicide prevention, and the continuation of life, representing a sentence the author could have ended but chose not to. Popularized by Project Semicolon, it signifies that the wearer's story is not over, highlighting strength in battling depression, addiction, and self-harm. This is a good way to start that "awkward" conversation for someone who is struggling. A portion of the profits for this item goes to the 988 Crisis Line.

This hardcover journal carries a calm, artful presence—hand-painted swirls of bold colors and a teal and purple semi-colon weave across a matte cover while a gentle message peeks through the design. It opens flat thanks to case-wrap binding and 150 lined pages give you space for daily notes, reflections, or unfolding ideas. The perforated sheets let you share a page without fuss. Light, durable, and quietly expressive, it slips into a bag for a coffee shop session or waits on your nightstand for late-night thoughts.

Growing Popcorn

 When I was around eight years old, I learned about the process plants go through when they grow from a seed. I did little experiments to see how they grew under different conditions. I placed seeds in clear containers... some with just wet paper towels, some with rocks, some with sand, some in nothing but water, and some with soil. I was able to watch the growth process and learned hands on what worked and made a plant grow. I was fascinated with seeing the seeds break open and watching the roots come out and begin to stretch themselves out and take hold. Of course, some of them only grew to a certain point. The ones that I placed on wet paper towels opened and branched out, but not having soil to expand into, they died. But not before I got a really good look at the beginning of the growth process. It was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen.

My mom had a garden in the back yard and I started helping her tend to it. I learned to spot weeds, when it needed watering and so on. I decided to plant something of my own. I didn’t have any seeds or seedlings from my experiments left, so I decided to ask my mom for some seeds. I didn’t care what they were, I just wanted to make something grow. She promised that the next trip into town, we would pick me up some flower seeds that I could plant along the front walk leading to our front door. I didn’t have much in the way of patience back then. I didn’t want to wait a few days... Then I thought of it! Every week, we had family movie night and we made popcorn to go with it! SEEDS!! I asked my mom if they would grow and she said she didn’t think so, but we could find out. She pulled the big bag of popcorn kernels out of the freezer and gave me a handful.

Feeling victorious, I ran outside, grabbed a trowel and the watering can and got my hands in the dirt. I was going to make something grow! In my mind, we would have popcorn for life! I carefully planted the seeds along the walkway and gave them a nice dousing of water. I knew it would be a few days before they pushed their way through the soil, so I went out and checked them each morning. Finally, they sprouted! I ran and got my mom and showed her, she smiled broadly and said I’d done a good job. I was so very proud and began planning my future as a farmer.

A few days went by and I walked out to see my crop, and found that the plants had been cut back! I called my mom out to the front yard and said something had happened to my plants. She looked at them and pointed out that they were still alive and growing. I asked her what happened to them, and she told me that my dad probably cut them, not knowing what they were. I realized that we hadn’t told him about my project, so I would have to let him know.

Then I forgot to tell him. A few more days later, I woke up to the faint sound of the lawnmower running. MY POPCORN!! I jumped out of bed and ran outside just in time to see my dad run over my crop... and he was going for the gusto! He ran back and forth over them and he looked determined and downright vindictive about it. I literally screamed on horror! “DADDY STOP!!”

He looked up at me in surprise and turned off the mower. In tears, I ran down the steps and over to where he stood and fell to my knees and ran my hands over my butchered plants. My father’s surprise dissolved into confusion and concern.

“What’s wrong babygirl?” he asked.

I tearfully answered, “You killed my popcorn!”.

“What?”

“You ran over my popcorn plants with the mower!” I pointed to where they were planted.

“Popcorn? I’m sorry babygirl! I thought they were weeds!” I looked up at him and saw pure guilt on his face. He was mortified. “I didn’t know. I never would have run over them if I’d known.” He knelt down next to me and looked at the mutilated plants. “I’m so sorry.” He hugged me and wiped the tears off my face.

“I forgot to tell you,” I sniffled. He hugged me again and offered to buy me some flower seeds to plant along the walk and assured me that he wouldn’t harm them in any way. I planted marigolds and zinnias, and I planted more popcorn in my mom’s garden... Those were the first and last plants I would ever grow successfully. I have the proverbial black thumb. I can’t even keep a cactus alive. I had one for two weeks and it died. I even tell people not to give me plants because it’s not fair to the innocent plant.

Many years later, I would be diagnosed with my mental disorders. It was something else I didn’t tell my dad. I didn’t tell my mom either. Not right away. I had gotten into the habit of only telling them what they wanted to hear. Since I didn’t understand my disorders, I didn’t talk about them. As I discovered who I am, both in the realm of my mental illness and outside of it, it got harder to tell them what was going on with me. Since I didn’t tell them how much I had fallen apart, they didn’t know what not to say or do as I was going through the painstaking process of putting myself back together. They said a lot of wrong things, completely not knowing that it was hurtful and even set me back in my recovery. The more they hurt me, the more that I kept from them. I was literally fighting for my life, and they didn’t know it. My point, and I do have one, is that you can’t expect people to know the things that you don’t tell them. In the years since, I have tried to tell them more about who I am, and my relationship with them is a struggle towards open communication, but there is so much they still don’t understand because I didn't opt to bring them along on my journey. As a result, they will always only have part of the picture.

People who care about you will say the exact wrong thing at the exact wrong time and it is painful. But do they have all the information? I barely spoke to my parents for several years BECAUSE they didn’t have all the facts. When it comes to your recovery or anything important or life-changing, talk about it. There are people you love who are only working with small pieces of information, and don’t have the whole picture. The new flowers you are planting haven’t grown into something others fully recognize, and might look foreign to them. Tell your story. Advocate for yourself. Your path is your own, and it’s unique to you... so just don’t let anyone run over it with a lawnmower.

Suicide Prevention and Awareness Supporter's 40oz Tumbler

 

This suicide prevention and awareness themed tumbler serves as a meaningful mental

health awareness gift, featuring a vibrant colorful abstract design on a large 40oz

thermal insulated vacuum travel mug. Show support with drinkware that combines practical

functionality with purposeful symbolism, showcasing a bold wraparound pattern with

teal-and-purple awareness ribbons that honor advocacy and compassion."It's Okay if you feel broken. I have tape and glue" is printed on bottom half of cup. The

teals and purples represent suicide awareness, along with the semi-colon that is embedded

in the design. Can you find it? 

Important: The semicolon (;) symbolizes mental health awareness, suicide prevention, and

the continuation of life, representing a sentence the author could have ended but chose not

to. Popularized by Project Semicolon, it signifies that the wearer's story is not over, high-

lighting strength in battling depression, addiction, and self-harm. This is a good way to start

that "awkward" conversation for someone who is struggling. The profits from the sale of this

item goes to support The 988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline.

To shop this item online, click here or any of the above images of the travel mug.

Watermelon Possession

 

Suicide Awareness and Prevention...Show Your Support!

IT'S SUICIDE AWARENESS & PREVENTION MONTH!

CLICK THE IMAGE TO SHOW YOUR LOVE AND SUPPORT!!

This relaxed cotton tee feels like a quiet pep talk you can wear. The artwork — swirling teal, purple and lavender forms — frames the gentle message: “YOU ARE VERY NECESSARY.” It sits on the chest as a calm, colorful reminder that presence matters. Lightweight but sturdy, the shirt drapes easily over everyday layers and keeps its shape after washes. Wear it to a coffee shop, a community meeting, or on slow weekend mornings when you need a little encouragement. The vibe is warm, thoughtful, and quietly bold — a wearable nod to self-worth that starts conversations without shouting. The teals and purples represent suicide awareness, along with the semi-colon that is embedded in the design. Can you see it?
Important: The semicolon (;) symbolizes mental health awareness, suicide prevention, and the continuation of life, representing a sentence the author could have ended but chose not to. Popularized by Project Semicolon, it signifies that the wearer's story is not over, highlighting strength in battling depression, addiction, and self-harm. This is a good way to start that "awkward" conversation for someone who is struggling. 

The profits for this item goes to support the 988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline. 

Hello... An Introduction to my Journey...

Hello.

Have I ever told you about the time I went blind and doctors tried to kill me?

    When I was 7 years old, I took it upon myself to disregard every adult's rules for safety and cross an 8-lane highway to get to Kmart so I could buy myself a Barbie doll. Suffice it to say that I ended up being hit by a motorcycle. I don't remember much from that accident, but I ended up with a broken leg and concussion... as I was being wheeled into the hospital the doctors and nurses were a blur and I was crying for my mommy, who had been called away from work and was with me. I was screaming that I couldn't see... then the doctor said something that over-rode that fear and made me start fighting for my life. He said, "We are going to have to put her to sleep". My only frame of reference for those words were from when adults had used them regarding euthanizing the family pet. I started screaming, "THEY'RE GOING TO KILL ME!! MOMMY HELP!! DON'T LET THEM KILL ME!!" I began to fight them with everything I had. It took several doctors and nurses to hold me down...Then I felt a needle go in and I was out after that.

Less than 10 years later I experienced trauma that triggered the start of my depression, anxiety and PTSD. I knew I had problems controlling my feelings and thoughts, but I couldn't bring myself to say there was something "wrong" with me because of the stigma that carried at the time.. some of which still exists today. I associated mental illness with serial killers and the people in One Flew Over The Coo-coo's Nest. I lived in that misery for 23 years. All of my relationships, old and new, suffered and many ended. I lost my daughter, had two disastrous marriages and nearly ended a third... I felt so broken and alone, I decided to end my misery with a couple of handfuls of pills....

I have attempted to kill myself 9 times. I am proud to say that I am a failure at death. From 1988 at the age of 16 until 2013 I lived with undiagnosed mental health disorders that made me lose hope, lose family and friends, and lose any sense of my righteous mind.

Then, the last time I was hospitalized, I remembered that accident... and I wondered what had happened to the little 40-pound girl who fought for her life so hard that she had to be held down by 6 adults just for an injection? Had she died? Or was she just hiding? She was real... but where had she gone? At what point had everything gotten so bad that I had completely abandoned her?... That was when I decided to fight for my life instead of against it. That was the day I finally asked my doctor what I had been diagnosed with. He gave all that agony a name, and with it came resources to help me fight, and literally get a life!

Hello. My name is Abanna Cheshire... and I am in long term, active and sustained recovery for several mental illnesses and substance use.

Suicide Awareness - My Story Isn't Over Yet!

September is Suicide Awareness and Prevention Month. Below is part of my recovery story. It was written and shared on Facebook on June 26th, 2020, which was when I reached a big milestone and knew I was solid in my recovery journey. I wasn't done with recovery yet, but I was back in the game of life! 

 Ok... so some of you already know, but many of you don't, I spent many years suffering from mental illness. I was very broken for a very long time and life was more than tough. In 2012, after 23 years of hell and 9 suicide attempts, I was diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder, Generalized Anxiety disorder, Social Anxiety disorder, PTSD, Borderline Personality Disorder, PMDD, Agoraphobia, and severe co-dependency issues. It cost me my children, my relationship with my parents, two marriages, and it very nearly cost me David. I finally sought help and God put the right people in my path for me to get on (and stay on) the road to recovery. It took time, but I was blessed with the right case manager at Red Rock BHS, who set me on my path and we addressed my overall wellness head on. One day, while I was meeting with her, she told me that she thought I'd make a great Peer Recovery Support Specialist. I asked what that was, and she said that it is someone who has struggled with mental illness or substance abuse and come out of it on the other side, who uses their experience to help people in similar circumstances. It struck a cord with me, but I knew I was nowhere near ready for it then. But I had a goal. Later that same year, I visited OCARTA for the first time in an effort to break out of my agoraphobia. It's run by people who are all PRSS's and they do great work. When I walked in, I felt at home instantly. It reminded me of the community center my parents opened and ran when I was a kid. I knew I wanted to work there.

Fast forward to 2019, after years of therapy, meds and healing, the time came when I knew it was time to pursue my certification. I went to OCARTA, where they have an excellent PRSS training program, and applied and enrolled in the class. In the course of the training, I led group meetings without fear, I was tapped to mentor a few women, and new opportunities have presented themselves. Not bad for a girl who couldn't leave the house on her own, or even talk to the checkout person at the store. And when no one was looking, David and I did more than save our marriage... we fell in love all over again on a much deeper level. Even my parents and I have a solid relationship that has grown exponentially. And my daughter is not only back in my life after 15 years, she has moved here and is staying with us during the pandemic! Somewhere along the line, my illness... my weaknesses, became my strengths. After years of recovering, many months of learning, and volunteering, I took my PRSS exam today and passed with a PERFECT SCORE!!! This whole recovery dream... turns out it is REAL. Oh! And OCARTA is interested in hiring me now that I am certified.

HEY, LOOK MA!! I MADE IT!!!