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Johanna

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Copyright, Johanna

My name is Johanna and I’m from Sweden. I’m seventeen now and I’ve been self harming for over a year. It’s scary how I can relate to some of your stories. Well… To start with I haven’t grown up with abuse or anything like that. I know my parents really love me but I’m just so depressed. I can’t cope with school. I have good grades, I have friends, but, the thing is, they’re not really my friends. I have no one to talk to. No one knows what I’m doing to myself. Several of my cuts should have needed stitches.

And it’s only getting worse. I want to stop but at the same time I love what I’m doing to myself. I love my razor blades and knives and the pieces of glass that I’ve collected. I always cut whenever I’m taking a shower. It has become a habit to always take at least one razor blade with me to the shower. To bleed calms me down. I love the feeling…

It all started with the problems I have with my dad. We have never been close and I have always had the feeling that I’m never good enough for him. He rarely speeks to me ever. And if he does it’s always to complain over something. I remember when I was very young, about seven or eight, I used to cry some nights about the feeling that my dad didn’t love me. I remember I walked into him in the livingroom and cried and asked him if he loved me. I even told him that I sometimes didn’t feel loved by him.

So, I’ve always loved my dad but I know he would have liked to have a boy instead of me. He loves sport, he knows all about it. I’ve always faild gym class. When I was twelve I started to get a stomache ache every time my dad got angry with me. I used to go to my room and bang my head against the wall as hard as I could just to get rid of the stomache ache.

When I turned sixteen I started cutting myself. It gave a better pain and it drove blood. I’ve always been the silent one.

I’m suffering from a social fobia. I have problems with talking to other people. I even have problems with simple daily things like asking for a bus ticket or ordering a coke at McDonalds. When I told a friend of mine that I had a social fobia, she just laughed and said to me that I was so very pushy. I’m not. I hate being around people. I really do. I’m also suffering from borderline disorder. And I’ve been really depressed for a long time now. I know it runs in my family. But no one sees how bad I feel.

My cuts are getting deeper and deeper, and I’m typing this with one hand because I can’t use two of the fingers on my left hand.

I don’t want to die — I’m cutting myself to live. My friends cares a lot about how they look. So those who have seen some of my scars think I’m really sick. That’s why I cut the same scars open again and again. That way I will have less scars.

No one knows me. And I hate myself. I lie to everyone and I hate it. I hate myself even more for that. I just need someone to talk to. It would be so nice. Just to hear someone else’s story. Please do contact me if you would like to talk.

 

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