“𝑩𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒕 𝒌𝒂 𝒏𝒂𝒌𝒂-𝒋𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒕? 𝑨𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒕-𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒕 𝒐!”
In an age that shouldn’t have carried such depressing thoughts, I remember believing that this world had no space for me.
There was a time when self-harm felt like the only “sensible” way to deal with overwhelming emotions. It seemed like a way to release feelings that had nowhere else to go. When thoughts crowded too loudly and silence felt impossible, pain appeared to offer structure—something tangible, something that made the chaos inside feel briefly organized. In those moments, emotions are felt too large for a body so fragile. Grief, shame, anger, disappointment—they did not line up politely.
I didn’t want it to hurt;
I just wanted the noise to stop.
And when no one cared enough to notice the storm, it was easy to believe that enduring it alone was the only option.
Today, mental health conversations are louder than before, and yet the silence around real struggle still remains. Many people—particularly the youth—stay quiet not because they have nothing to say, but because they are afraid of being judged, misunderstood, or laughed at. Words like “depressed” and “anxious” are thrown around so casually, while those who truly carry the weight of those words learn to carry it alone.
According to the Cleveland Clinic (2023), self-harm—also known as nonsuicidal self-injury—is the act of intentionally hurting oneself without the intention of ending one’s life. More often than not, it is not about wanting to die, but about wanting relief from emotions that feel too overwhelming to carry. Globally, an estimated 14.6 million people engage in self-harm each year (International Association for Suicide Prevention, 2023), a number that reveals how common this quiet struggle truly is.
Behind those statistics are stories shaped by personal distress—bullying in hallways, loneliness that lingers long after school ends, domestic violence, academic pressure, relationship conflicts, low self-esteem, or the simple inability to translate pain into words (Healthdirect Australia, 2023).
When pain is labeled as taboo or weird, it hides. Scars become private battles, self-harm turns into a subject too heavy—and the act itself grows heavier each time it is done.
But you are not alone.
If your emotions ever feel too loud for your chest to hold, pause. There are ways to let them out without inflicting the pain to yourself. Try putting your thoughts into words—even messy ones—in a journal. Let your hands create something instead: sketch, paint, write lyrics, play music that understands you when people cannot. Move your body, take a walk, breathe slowly until your heartbeat softens. And if the weight feels like too much to carry by yourself, reach for someone you know is safe: a friend, a family member, a teacher, a guidance counselor; anyone, really.
There is strength—not weakness—in saying “I need help.”
Looking back now, reaching an age I once never imagined living to see brings a different kind of awareness. It hurts to notice the same quiet signals in others—the hoodies worn a little too often, the silence that seems heavier than usual. But it also reminds me that understanding and compassion can grow where silence once lived.
I still choose to wear long sleeves in warm weather—not to hide anymore, but to remember. To remember how far I have come from the version of myself who thought self-inflicted injury was the only option that worked to sustain myself. What once concealed my struggle now reminds me of success.
And a little message to those who suffered from the same thing as I did: your scars are not shameful—they are proof that you chose to keep living.
𝑲𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈.
𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓.
Written by Kyriel Yu, Insight PH
Kyriel Yu, Insight PH is a dedicated campus journalist and contributor. Their insightful writing sparks meaningful conversations and keeps the community informed.
