Psyke.org

Desiree

Why Don’t They Care… Because They Don’t Know.

Copyright Desiree

My name’s Desiree. I’m fourteen now and have been cutting for about two years. I started in sixth grade, it was my legs at first, but as time progress I moved to my forearm, it hurt more and I felt more in control the skin on my arm seemed to cut more easily with the razor than on my legs. I feel it gettin adtticing now I really do, I’m scared for it to get to that point, but I feel it’s my only release, I feel I deserve it. The pain, them the numbness it calms me, yet I hate myself for doing it. Irony at it’s fullest.

I had just moved to a new town two states away from my hometown, I had the hardest time fitting in. I liked school I had good grades I stayed in during lunch becasue I didn’t like being around too many people at once. People hated me for that. ‘You are such a kiss up to the teachers’, ‘you are such a geek getting all A’s’, ‘you cheat that’s why you have such good grades’ were a lot of the kids statements. I stuck it up and took as them having problems, but they hated me too much just to let me ignore them. I’d go to PE they’d kick the stall doors open while I was changing, they’d point at me and always find something to criticise in PE their favortie was makeing fun of my breasts. I was disliked through that year by my peers, but I got through it with scars. Seventh grade came I was the best at playing my instrument, those were the six months of scar free, but that all ended when my stepdad entered. I cut again and again so much that my music was no long enough to release the pain. He hit me, me beat my mom, he beat my brother, he went to jail after almost killing my mom. I found out that I cut and said I was to end in a mental home. School was the same my peers hated me, I loved music class they hated it found it “uncool” I loved school they hated it calling in a waste of time. My school counslor believed my mom’s lies of how ‘wonderful my step-dad was’ and no issues were adressed. Now as an eighth grader, my peers still hate me. I’m afraid of school to the point I missed about three weeks in a row. I entered all gifted classes only to drop from them to escape the peer haterd. I only now have one person I can consider a friend, I opened up to her, she didn’t care her reponse was ‘Everyone does it’. I had been diganosed with severe depresssion, I cut on a daily basis about five times a day, my arm was full of scares, I go to see a therapist every other day, I was requested to go to a treatment center and everyone still does it? People don”t care at least the ones at my school becasue they don’t know. this isn’t some teen trend this an issee a health problem they might think they know but they don’t, and because our generation is so full of themselves they won’t admit they know about these things, self-harm is horrible it way more of an issue than people take it as. Bullying and peer abuse is just the same, people don’t care about the issue becasue they don’t know much about it it takes a first hand experience to fully understand, an experience most people don’t have…

Freedom

Copyright Desiree

My name is Desiree, I’m fifteen years old. I started scratching myself when I was twelve. Then when I turned thirteen I started cutting.

It just got rid of all of everything I’m feeling. Last night, July 28, I tried slitting my wrists. It didn’t work. I just want people to know that I thank the people who made this site. It has been helping me a lot. I still cut. I’ve been going on again off again thing. So basically I’ve been cutting for four years. I can’t stop. I just want everyone to know that if any of you think about suicide just step back and just think about good things in your life and the good things that will come in your life. So e-mail me if you just want to talk at gothcuts@yahoo.com.

Update

I was about thirteen years old when I started cutting myself. When I was seven my biological mother abandoned me. She told me to my face that she didn’t love me. My father wanted nothing to do with me and my sister. So one night I got my shaver and started cutting up my arms. The cuts were bad but not as bad as they are now. But now my dad came back into my life when I was twelve. I stopped then I started. Then now I’m fifteen I’m cutting again. I cut a couple of nights ago and I felt so free. I just want everything to go away. I also don’t eat a lot and if I do I take a laxative. I’m also a lesbian. And I tried commiting suicide twice. So if anyone wants to talk, just e-mail me at gothcuts@yahoo.com.

Why I Started Cutting

Copyright Desiree

I don’t know why I started doing this. It was two years ago, at this time I felt really down. I don’t have true friends and that’s what makes me feel really down. In another sleepless night I walked into the bathroom and took an old razor blade from my dad. I took it with me in my room and cut myself, it was a great feeling, at the first moment, as I saw the blood, I knew what I had done. In two monts I’ll be fifteen. For a little time I’ve stopped but a few days later I’ll start again.

I hate myself, and I don’t know why.

I’m just sad and depressed. I can give other cutters good advice but I can’t stop it!

Untitled

Copyright Desiree

I was twelve when I first dragged a knife against my skin. It was just an experiment, I never thought it would end up like this. Soon I had got a boyfriend. He was everything to me. Then he broke my heart. I didn’t know what to do. How could I get rid of this pain, that I was feeling. Then I saw my dad’s box cutter, it was sharp, sharp enough to cut my skin with. I kept going at my arm until I was covered with marks. For a long time I stayed real depressed, and cutting could make me calm, and not do anything stupid. I felt as though I needed it, as though it was a drug.

It only got worser. During the summer, I try to stop cutting, and I guess it never worked out, because I found myself getting into more trouble. I didn’t talk much. And when I did it was always hurtful things. I would take my pain out, by beating up someone or something. But I didn’t want to cut, so I started taking pills, a lot of them. Whatever my parents had I would take, just to make me calm. But it still didn’t help me much, so I started back cutting, even though I wanted to stop so badly, I needed it. I needed to feel that cold blade against my skin. So that’s what I did, every day, every night.

Soon I went back to school and everything was great. So what I cut, and no one knew I Was so good at covering it up, no one knew I was depressed inside. Then I started to get picked on, and at first I didn’t mind it, but then it got worse. Everyday I would go to school and I would be picked on. Then my dad he would come home drunk every night, and that didn’t help, so I drove deeper and deeper in my cutting.

I started to pop at least six to ten pills a day. I burn myself, cut, poke with needles. I pull out my hair. I scratch my self until I get these big bruises on my arm. Sometimes it can get out of control, and I could start cutting myself in the class with a safety pin. My arm is so bruised I have to wear long sleeve shits to cover it up. And I can’t go without a day of hurting myself. Without thinking about suicide. I have tried to hang myself two times all ready, and I am so afraid I won’t get to see the day I graduate from high school.

Untitled

Copyright Desiree

I started cutting when I was twelve, now I’m fourteen and I don’t think I’ll ever stop. I started cutting because I was pressured. My head always hurt, and my parents constantly fight. I was feeling all the pain, but no one knew. I was soon so far into my cutting I had to wear long sleeved shirts to cover it up, and I was only twelve. I was so ashamed of who I became, but it was the only way I could feel relief, cutting was the only way I could get on with my life. So it got worse when I turned fourteen. I was in a school where all the kids hated me. Tormented me for fun. I would tell the teachers, but they never do anything. Then at home, my parents constantly still argued, and screamed. My dad would never come home, and when he did he was drunk. He would say the words to me that would make me cut and cry every night, I was nothing. My own dad didn’t like me, so what was the use of being in this world, when I only felt grief. Cutting was my way. When I felt the slightless of sadness, I would cut. The feeling of that pain, that I made. Makes me calm and I don’t know why. But now since I’m so in to it. I’m slipping, my grades drop, my mom thinks something wrong with me. I think of suicide. I don’t know if this can ever stop. I don’t know if I can get better.

 

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