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Was it good for you? © Heather, Original location I can still remember where I was the first time I cut myself. I was living at my parent's house at the age of 16 at 203 E. Fillmore Street in Tempe (which I have since returned to several times only to find whoever is livingthere now has ripped out the lovely evergreen hedges that surrounded the front yard and what was once beautiful green grass has now been replaced with disgusting orange gravel) doing my homework (a rare occurence). My father, who by all accounts was a wonderful man, very loving but very stern and watched my every move like a hawk waiting to pounce on a field mouse, had just grounded me or something. I loved my father, but he was incredibly protective of me. Example: my first date was after he died. I felt that I needed some control. I don't know what made me do it, really. I had never heard of anyone carving into their body before. So I gave it a shot. I carved "EMPIRE" into my left arm with a pen cap. My parents never saw it, which was a mystery tome. I wore short sleeved shirts most of the time (it was summer in Arizona, for Christ's sake). The next day at school one of my friends asked me why I did it. I said I didn't know. The day after that he came back to school with the word "joint" carved into his arm. This was extremely disturbing. I didn't want to think that I had started some sort of weird fad. So I didn'tdo it for a long time after that. Even after my dad died. I didn't start real cutting again until I was about 20. I guess I was trying to be creative carving different words into my arms. I carved "Help" one time, "Jesus" another time. The last time I carved a word into my arm I was 22. I had just come back from a Christmas party and in a drunken stupor carved "please" into my arm. I have never remembered seeing so much blood before in my life. It was dripping onto my friend's carpet. She caught me and dragged me into the bathroom to clean it up. I have never talked to her since. The morning after I had to go to the ER to get a tetunus shot since I couldn't remember what kind of blade I used. All I remembered was that it was old and possibly rusty. The triage nurse asked me what happened to my arm. I just explained I was drunk and did something stupid. She didn't even raise aneyebrow. It wasn't until I was about 23 that I started seeing these stories on 20/20 about peoplecutting themselves up. If anything, I was relieved that I finally wasn't the only one doing this to my body. There are many people out there just like me. Thank God. I don't feel so alone. Anyway, since then I have given up carving in words. I just stick to straight slash marks since those are much easier to explain. I am still cutting. I just now finished cutting a few lines into my arms. I'm not sick. I am not a freak. I just can't let myself go. Top of page Webmaster: wulff@ratatosk.net |