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Chee

A Cut of my Life

Copyright, Chee

I apparently started hurting myself when I was two or three years old. Just because I wouldn’t get my way or something like that. I would just beat my head on the floor. But when I first started to hurt myself was when I was eleven or thirteen. I’m unsure how old I was. The reason I hurt myself was a stupid reason. I was sitting on my couch watching Street Fighter. I saw Cammy and was like OMG she is so cool. So I picked up the compass and cut the top part of my wrists. I liked the pain because it hurt but it didn’t hurt. I still have the scars there. I started to cut with anything I could get my hands on. I started using cutting as a form of release when I was around thirteen. I became depressed and more cut off from the world. In elementary I was always picked on at school and at home. But at home was more like mental and physcial abuse. I actually almost totally stopped talking when I was in 3rd grade. The way I escaped then was to read books all during the day even recess. Okay back to middle school. When I was thirteen or so I just stopped crying I wasn’t able to at all not even to force them. This caused a huge back up in my feelings. I was sad most of the time while the others I couldn’t feel a thing. So I picked up paperclips and safety pins. And started to do small cuts. I would mostly bruise myself. Get in really bad accidents where I would get hurt a lot. I would also let some of my friends hurt me. In 10th grade things got really bad. I started cutting a lot. I would go on cutting sprees over a hundred or more in one sitting. I would do it in public sometimes all on my left forearm. Since it felt nice there. Some saw me and even offered me a paperclip to do more damage. Me being stupid I accepted it from him and did more. Once my boyfriend came the little brat went and told him what I just did. I stopped for a little bit because my friends wanted me to. I later started back up again started cutting in school with a safety pin in third. That teacher knew and never told on me but he did ask me to stop which I did to a point. In his class I actually started to take care of my cuts. This year came around and I hadn’t been cutting for a bit but then the urge hit me. I now had gotten my second razor the first in 10th. I started one night. I tried to fight the urge but I couldn’t. I now have gotten better at hiding my scars. Under my pants and under my sleeves. The night I took my razor from under my bed and picked it up and started to cut my forearm. I couldn’t help it. It felt good. I only did a tiny patch. I then brought it up to my shoulder I cut and cut my blade and fingers got so bloody. That’s never happened before. I cut some on my leg too. My blade became dull after that. I had to use my dagger for my back. Yes, I’m addicted now. Today I took a safety pin and started to stratch away. I forgot how good that felt. I had stayed on razors, knives, and daggers for so long. I want to do just one more before I go to sleep. But I must stop no matter how good it feels. I already know I’m going to do one more cut.

 

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