By Jazmine Mae Basa
TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions Self Harm
We all get a little nervous sometimes. Whether it’s a big presentation, college applications, or the seemingly-childish monstrous implications of the dark, fear is present.
As early as I can remember, I’ve been a rather anxious child. I always clung onto my parents and peers in the face of strangers. When I didn’t know what to do, I simply avoided it.
Time ticks away and my fears are contained within my head. It usually drives me to do a bunch of work early but to an unhealthy degree. I find myself overdoing things out of paranoia—turning one page-summaries into 5-page essays. I pry on the tiny details and fear failure.
Then I’m praised as “smart” and “hardworking.” It feels horrible—almost as if I’m congratulated for hurting myself. The adults are supposed to be your heroes, but they can’t see you’re hurting.
For the longest time, I didn’t like myself. Most people insisted I'm a smart, kind person, but it made me uncomfortable. To some degree, it felt like a lie—as if I somehow manipulated them without knowing it. I felt like I had to uphold a reputation of always being perfect. That I have to keep being perfect, or I’ll lose everyone I love. I had to be perfect. Sometimes, that expectation still lingers.
When I got mad, or anxious, I scratched myself. Occasionally, I plucked out my own eyelashes, eyebrows, or scalp. When I got stressed enough, I use to hit my head a lot. It helped me to shut up the voices in my head, but only briefly. It was never worth it.
They were all forms of self-harm.
The results were drastic; I found my skin turning pink from scratching too much. If no one is nearby to stop me, I bled. My hair, eyelashes, and eyebrows grew thin from all the plucking. I had minor migraines from the concoction of anger, sadness, loneliness, and hitting.
I found discomfort in the pink patches on my skin—the skin that started off as lovely, soft and alive to mutate into a physical representation of my self-hatred. I hate it when people point out the pinkish-reddish marks on my skin, a reminder of the part of me I can’t control.
I am aware it’s harmful to try to relieve an itch too deep. However, bad results don’t stop bad habits. It was hard to simply quit. People need to understand life isn’t as easy as snapping your fingers and being the best version of yourself. Fear holds even the strongest, smartest people back, halting improvement. It’s difficult to win a war against yourself.
When you run on fear, you hurt yourself. Along the way, you hurt others. It’s petrifying to face the world alone, and it gets even more frustrating for people to assume I have my life handled because of some dumb letters and numbers on a report card.
Nowadays I only scratch myself, but it’s mainly from my eczema. I still fear I will revert back to my old ways, but I won’t contain this fear anymore. Thus, I ask, as a human, don’t let me hurt myself. Don’t remind me of something I’m trying to forget. Don’t let anyone hurt themselves. We think it helps, but it doesn’t.
It gets hard to explain the pink marks, or noticing the pop of someone’s eyes when they see the scars of temporary relief. A physical mark of my mental breakdowns—something I want to hide, but fail to. An imperfection a perfectionist can’t fix—but you quickly learn perfection is worth nothing if you’re not you.
Currently, I am surrounded by the warmth of loving friends. People that approach me when they notice my heart drops—people that check if I’m okay. I couldn’t be more grateful for the people that taught me how to heal my mental scars—patience for a healing soul. It pains me to know they hurt too, but we all have to try. The world is horrible sometimes, but people who hate it know how to fix it.
I can assure you, we all learn to love ourselves eventually. You have to try. It’s frustrating—I know—that the most destructive, deadly demon in your life is yourself. It’s slow and gradual, but it gets better.
“But Jazmine, everyone says it ‘gets better!’” It does, please just hold on a bit longer, fight to live—not to survive--but live.
You have to understand you are not alone. We all have fears, and it’s hard to escape your own mind. However, you have to learn that in order to improve you have to be there for yourself, too. You have to put in the work into improving your life and getting the help you need.
As I look back to last year, where I isolated myself from all forms of help, I realized I had to take the initiative. Otherwise, I would be another victim of suicide, and this would’ve been my suicide note.
Instead, it’s a revised survivor story.
If you or someone you know is hurting themselves, displays suicidal or destructive thoughts, contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255. The number is live 24/7.
You can also contact Yerba Buena’s social worker, Jen Pastrana, at [email protected]. Or, you can fill out a student support referral here and a social worker will contact you.
They won’t tell your parents, nor will it stick to your record if you call. Please, please call if you need the help. Do not abandon yourself, because only you can defeat your own demons.
TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions Self Harm
We all get a little nervous sometimes. Whether it’s a big presentation, college applications, or the seemingly-childish monstrous implications of the dark, fear is present.
As early as I can remember, I’ve been a rather anxious child. I always clung onto my parents and peers in the face of strangers. When I didn’t know what to do, I simply avoided it.
Time ticks away and my fears are contained within my head. It usually drives me to do a bunch of work early but to an unhealthy degree. I find myself overdoing things out of paranoia—turning one page-summaries into 5-page essays. I pry on the tiny details and fear failure.
Then I’m praised as “smart” and “hardworking.” It feels horrible—almost as if I’m congratulated for hurting myself. The adults are supposed to be your heroes, but they can’t see you’re hurting.
For the longest time, I didn’t like myself. Most people insisted I'm a smart, kind person, but it made me uncomfortable. To some degree, it felt like a lie—as if I somehow manipulated them without knowing it. I felt like I had to uphold a reputation of always being perfect. That I have to keep being perfect, or I’ll lose everyone I love. I had to be perfect. Sometimes, that expectation still lingers.
When I got mad, or anxious, I scratched myself. Occasionally, I plucked out my own eyelashes, eyebrows, or scalp. When I got stressed enough, I use to hit my head a lot. It helped me to shut up the voices in my head, but only briefly. It was never worth it.
They were all forms of self-harm.
The results were drastic; I found my skin turning pink from scratching too much. If no one is nearby to stop me, I bled. My hair, eyelashes, and eyebrows grew thin from all the plucking. I had minor migraines from the concoction of anger, sadness, loneliness, and hitting.
I found discomfort in the pink patches on my skin—the skin that started off as lovely, soft and alive to mutate into a physical representation of my self-hatred. I hate it when people point out the pinkish-reddish marks on my skin, a reminder of the part of me I can’t control.
I am aware it’s harmful to try to relieve an itch too deep. However, bad results don’t stop bad habits. It was hard to simply quit. People need to understand life isn’t as easy as snapping your fingers and being the best version of yourself. Fear holds even the strongest, smartest people back, halting improvement. It’s difficult to win a war against yourself.
When you run on fear, you hurt yourself. Along the way, you hurt others. It’s petrifying to face the world alone, and it gets even more frustrating for people to assume I have my life handled because of some dumb letters and numbers on a report card.
Nowadays I only scratch myself, but it’s mainly from my eczema. I still fear I will revert back to my old ways, but I won’t contain this fear anymore. Thus, I ask, as a human, don’t let me hurt myself. Don’t remind me of something I’m trying to forget. Don’t let anyone hurt themselves. We think it helps, but it doesn’t.
It gets hard to explain the pink marks, or noticing the pop of someone’s eyes when they see the scars of temporary relief. A physical mark of my mental breakdowns—something I want to hide, but fail to. An imperfection a perfectionist can’t fix—but you quickly learn perfection is worth nothing if you’re not you.
Currently, I am surrounded by the warmth of loving friends. People that approach me when they notice my heart drops—people that check if I’m okay. I couldn’t be more grateful for the people that taught me how to heal my mental scars—patience for a healing soul. It pains me to know they hurt too, but we all have to try. The world is horrible sometimes, but people who hate it know how to fix it.
I can assure you, we all learn to love ourselves eventually. You have to try. It’s frustrating—I know—that the most destructive, deadly demon in your life is yourself. It’s slow and gradual, but it gets better.
“But Jazmine, everyone says it ‘gets better!’” It does, please just hold on a bit longer, fight to live—not to survive--but live.
You have to understand you are not alone. We all have fears, and it’s hard to escape your own mind. However, you have to learn that in order to improve you have to be there for yourself, too. You have to put in the work into improving your life and getting the help you need.
As I look back to last year, where I isolated myself from all forms of help, I realized I had to take the initiative. Otherwise, I would be another victim of suicide, and this would’ve been my suicide note.
Instead, it’s a revised survivor story.
If you or someone you know is hurting themselves, displays suicidal or destructive thoughts, contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255. The number is live 24/7.
You can also contact Yerba Buena’s social worker, Jen Pastrana, at [email protected]. Or, you can fill out a student support referral here and a social worker will contact you.
They won’t tell your parents, nor will it stick to your record if you call. Please, please call if you need the help. Do not abandon yourself, because only you can defeat your own demons.