My story, as of April 10th, 2002: Technically, I started cutting two years ago, when I was in 7th grade. I got upset so badly, and I hated myself more than anything. I thought I deserved to hurt, so I took my pocketknife that I'd gotten from my grandparents, and kept scratching myself with it, in the same spot on my arm, over and over. It never in bled, and I hated myself even more because of that- I couldn't even cut myself right!
I did that a little in seventh & eighth grade, off & on. Always in the same spot, never bleeding though. Then, I hated myself because I thought I couldn't do it right, but now I realize that the little pocket knife couldn't make me bleed, unless I tried really hard... even I never was upset enough to do that.
But, this year, it got worse... much worse. I couldn't take it anymore, even though I have so much more going for me. I know that not everything is my fault, and I don't do everything wrong. But... I still got upset. I don't hate myself as badly as I did, but it still got bad. One day, there was a rumor around school that my boyfriend was cheating on me with another girl... and two of my best friends confirmed that, they saw him with the girl. I couldn't get a hold of my boyfriend, so you can imagine how upset I was. I took out that little pocket knife, determined to cut. But I got so upset when it wouldn't bleed! I was so upset, and I couldn't make it bleed, when I wanted to so badly. I kept scratching at my arm, but... it didn't work. So, I tossed my mind around (figure of speech) & tried to think of something that would make it bleed- and thought of my disposable shaving razor- one that I had in my dresser that I'd had there since I stayed the weekend with a friend. I got it out, trembling, and tried to break it open. I couldn't. So, I got out my pocketknife again, & used that to break it open. That time, I got it. I was shaking really badly by then, but I took out one of the 3 blades in there (though at the time I only noticed 1 other), & used it to cut my arm. I did this, time & time again, at night when i got upset, after my mom went to bed. Soon, I had four cuts on my arm- and I can't even count the number of times I cut them. (The ones on my arm, I cut many times each.) Then, I stopped cutting my arms- I'll be starting gym soon, & will have to wear t-shirts. So, I started cutting my legs.
Today, about 6 months since I 'started' cutting, I have 37 cuts- not all of them will scar. Most likely, I will have about 25 scars when I am older. (I am only 15 now.) I do want to stop, and I don't want anyone else to have to go through that. I don't think I would've made it this far without my friends, and I know that I have them to thank for the fact that I didn't completely give up on life and kill myself before. Thank you all, I love you so much! |