Psyke.org

KP

Untitled

Copyright, KP

I am now a junior in high school but when I was thirteen, just a lowly 8th grader, I was physically, emotionally, and mentally abused by my ex. But apparently that didn’t sate his sadistic side and he raped me in August of that year. At the beginning of my 9th grade year I was so depressed and hated life that I became suicidal and cut myself to relieve the pain that he had brought. It hasn’t helped but I am working on it.

Untitled

Copyright, KP

I first started cutting and making myself throw up in the end of ninth grade. My life was fairly perfect up until then. I had a family who loved and cared about me and I had friends who were always there. Maybe that’s what the problem was. they cared too much. I felt like I had to keep them happy and I hated when my problems were meant to be for only me. I was suffering from depression and was feeling useless and hopeless. Nothing I did was right, I wasn’t smart and I never knew the things to say. I felt horrible. The first time I did it, it was with a safety pin. A simple star on the back of my hand. It was little, and barely bled, but it made me feel so much better. I continued it for about 3 months, continuing the stars on my hand, fingers and arms. Razor blades were kept under my boxes in the bathroom cabinet. The stars were never very deep, just enough to make me feel better. I had power over something and I could handle it. I didn’t need to worry about my friends knowing my problems. As the cutting continued, my eating disorder got worse too. I could barely eat and when I did, I made myself puke it up. I didn’t cut all through the summer, and my bulimia seemed under control. However, tenth grade rolled around and the constant stress in addition to the needs of being perfect took their toll again. I carved a J into the skin under my knuckles and another star on the side of my wrist.

I still cut. It relieves tension for me. I don’t do it as often as I used to, but it still calls me. My friends found out about it, and as expected, were worried and demanded that I see help. I refused, and they gave up. They think I’m crazy, but I’m not. I’m just helping myself.

 

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