Sarah
I Know this Girl…
Copyright Sarah
My name is Sarah. I have been a cutter for a year and a half. This is a story from my past, hoping for someone to read this and will relate. It all started last year. I was happy. The problems I delt with in the past didn’t seem to have an effect. I met a different group of friends and I grew to have so much in common with them. They were fun to hang out with, and to this day I love them all like family. One of them was a cutter. She still tells me to this day that without me she would be no one. The thing is, without her I could have been someone. She introduced me to the knife (never told me to cut, but put the idea in my head) I became very emotional, and I didn’t know how to deal with it. Things from my past I started to remember. Some abuse (yelling and hitting) but I delt with it. I had a boyfriend that I literally loved. he always told me he loved me and would be nothing without me. He made me believe it. Then one day he broke my heart. I was walking around like a zombie for six months. To deal with that, I cut. The first time it felt so good. I got addicted. By cutting I felt like I delt with everything. When really I was just storing it in the back of my head.
I wish I could go back in time and never pick up the razor. But I got creative, trying cutting in different places, with different objects. And one day this year, I got so desperate that I had to use the blade from a pencil sharpener in school. I met someone though, who I will never forget. He taught me so much. No only about cutting and self harm, but he taught me about myself. For that I love him. I saw my friend and myself go through what was a release of the pain, and I realised I never want to go back. I stopped for a month and went back once before. But this time, it was different. I met a boy that shattered my heart again this year. I prayed I would never loose him when I didn’t have him to begin with. Then one day he told me he loved me. Since then I haven’t cut once. I love him with all my heart. I am in counselling and in a way it helps. In a way it doesn’t. But with going through everything I found some people I really could talk to. That girl I thought I could live without is now one of my best friends. From reading this I hope someone out there could relate to me. I wanted help, I wanted to stop. I had to stop. And I think somehow you can too. I didn’t believe it, but it happened.
My Life Story
Copyright Sarah
When I was a young girl, everything was going perfect. My mum and dad were happy, my sister and me were happy, our family were happy, it was a perfect dream come true. Our places were sorted, my sister was a mum’s little girl, and I was a dad’s little girl. It was going wonderful for us all.
When I was four or five, my parents divorced, and they both became worst enemies, the last memory I have of them both is when I woke up and my sister came and screamed my name, and I followed her downstairs, my ears were surrounded by full blast music and my mum and dad screaming at each other.
My mum threw a glass at me, but luckily she missed, then the police came over, and my grandma and granddad had me for the night as well as my sister.
That’s the last memory I have of them together when I was a little girl. And to this very day, I still do blame myself for the divorce.
When we moved, I lost all my friends, and all my school teahcers, which I loved too bits. So then came the first day of school, and I enjoyed it so much, I met a best friend which me and her are still bestest buds to this day.
In year one or two, I started sucking my veins on my wrist/arm, and I carried on doing that for two years, the teacher asked me who did that, I said somebody hurt me, and she asked who, and I went to the year two class, and she asked which one did it to you, I said none of them, she said but you told me someone hurt you, I said someone did. That’s all I can remember of the first time I actually hurt myself on purpose.
Then came the razors, I screamed and screamed and screamed, I went to the bathroom and found a razor and then I cut my legs, I felt so… relieved, all the pain inside of me vanished for that slight second, all the guilt, hate, dissappointment, anger, fear, it all went away for that period of time.
So I continued to cut, my mum caught me around three months in from doing it.
She asked me so many questions, so I replied with the truth.
She went to my doctor, and I got referred to a social worker, three years in, and I cancelled all help, I was sick of it, I wasn’t improving, I was just getting worse and worse. So all the help got stopped.
My dad returned to the UK in 2002, and he was a complete twat, I wish he never came back.
To this very day, he thinks eight months from not seeing me is acceptable, don’t think so.
My mum has had depression since the divorce, my sister has smoked for around two years, due to my faithful, strong nan dying in 2004, June 26th.
We all miss her, and love her, she will always R.I.P in our hearts. We will never forget you grandma I hope you’re at peace.
My self injury has got worse, true, but what would people want: Me dying from major stress and end up commiting suicide? Or, me coping with it by cutting myself?
Sure, self injury can risk your life, but commiting suicide is timeless, self injury… you have hope to stop, at the moment, I don’t want to stop, but I’m sure one day I’ll choose to stop before it’s to late. I’ve already lost three to four pints of blood due to cutting on my wrist, neck, head, face, chest, stomach, legs, arms. The majority of everywhere.
Just rememeber: We are one. We’re all alone, were all going through a rough time, were all apart off each other, self injury is the key to our cope.
Without it, most of us would be dead by now by commiting suicide, am I right? Or am I wrong?
If anyone needs to talk to me, regarding my story, or if your feeling suicidal, or if you’er wanting to self injure, or even if you just need to talk to someone, e-mail me or add me on msn at: funky_sarah6@hotmail.co.uk, sure I’m thirteen, but for my age, I’m quite mature.
Self Harming — Addictive
Copyright Sarah
I didn’t know what I was doing, I was eight years old when I began realising I had self injury. I started sucking my arms and blood came from it, the skin ripped off.
Then when I was nine, I started using razors. I got bullied, I got pushed around but when I cut it makes me feel so much more relieved. I’m thirteen now. I have been cutting for four years. My parents split up when I was four, and my mum has had depression ever since, although I was a daddy’s little gurl, maybe that’s why the divorce was harder on me than my sister. When my dad returned to the UK (I was nine) he came too see me, I remember that’s when the he started breaking promises, and lying to me a lot. When I was in year 4, I remember my cutting got worse, I cut every day, but then in year 5 I had a wonderful teacher and the cutting got lower and lower, I only cut once a week, not even that. That lasted until last year, because I got bullied and horrible I had a panic attack by the bullying. So the cutting began again, instead of cutting on my legs, I cut on my chest, arms, wrists, head and stomach, possibly once my neck.
Once this happened I was referred to my counsellor again, I said I didn’t want help.
I can do it myself, and I have, no cuts for five months.
Just rememeber, if you cut yourself you can lose a wonderful life that you have.
Just don’t cut, it’s worthless, punch a pillow, or play loud music. Distract yourself come on the internet and speak to someone, just God forbid don’t cut yourself over a problem.
Where My Life Has Gone
Copyright Sarah
I want to say that I started cutting when I was about thirteen, in 7th grade. An incident had happened at home and I ended up getting angry at one of my brother’s friends. Later that night my mom came up to my room to talk to me. She started yelling at me saying that I don’t respect anybody and how would I like it if somebody was being mean to me. I kept apologizing and saying sorry, but she was still angry with me. I started crying uncontrollably for some reason, probably because I felt I was being blamed for everything. Not to mention I’ve been in trouble for this other times. I’d never thought about cutting, but that night was different. I took my pair of scissors off my desk in my room and started cutting my arm. I got about three cuts and then stopped. I started crying because I was horrified at what I had done to myself. I kept telling myself how bad this was and couldn’t believe that I had done that. I promised God I would never do that again, but then later on in life I started questioning that. I was OK with the cutting after that for a while. Another incident happened with my mother, and she had gotten angry at me for something and I didn’t want to cut again. I don’t know why, but I didn’t want to. Instead I burned myself. The desk light I had in my room heated up pretty good when I left it on, and that was the closest hot object I could find. I placed my wrist of the light and held it there for a while until it really started to hurt. At that time I didn’t realize that was a form of self-injury, but as I grew up I realized that my self-mutilation had begun. The cutting was fine all through my freshman year. I was with a boyfriend for two years, through 8th grade and freshman year. We broke up the end of freshman year and I was a wreck. That’s when my life really started spiraling down. I became almost obsessed with him..I thought my life couldn’t go on without him. I just couldn’t accept the break up. He knew that he had control over me and was trying to do that whole hard-to-get act because I know that he got some kind of sick enjoyment out of it. Well I just lost it. I would sneak out of the house at all hours of the night to go and see him and my parents couldn’t pry me away from him. Eventually one day I got hysterical over my ex boyfriend because he kept hanging up on me and was angry at me for something. So I went to stop by his house. My mom knew I wasn’t supposed to be hanging around him because she didn’t like him at all. She found me at his house and pulled me into her car and proceeded to take me to the hospital. I jumped out of the moving car and ran all the way home. I shot into my room and just sat there crying. The next day I ended up getting out of control again and ended up in the hospital. I don’t feel like I got anything out of it, and I went into therapy and worked a little on it. But lately the cutting has gotten really bad, almost to the point where I need to stay away from sharp objects. Every time something went wrong with me I would grab a blade I took from my dad’s workshop and start cutting up my arms. At one point there had been a really bad break up with another one of my boyfriends. I was so upset about it that I started cutting my arms pretty badly. They were very deep cuts that probably required stitches, but my whole cutting life was a secret, I even kept it from my best friend. I’m a junior now in highschool and it’s been pretty bad this year. I started carving hate words into my arms and wrists. My entire left arm is covered with scars and I hardly ever wear short sleeves or anything that exposes my arms. Recently I knew that I needed help. I was at school and my arm began hurting really bad from the cutting I had done the previous night. The nurse brought in my social worker and my therapist and that was the first time I had ever faced my cutting problem. Since then I haven’t cut, though I get urges all the time. I find something to keep myself occupied in order to keep myself from getting really upset. I’m working on it with my therapist and working on getting my self-esteem up and just get through life. I’ve been doing well and I truly believe that if everybody really faces their problems, then they can begin to further help themselves and see what they’re doing isn’t helping anything. There are so many people out there to support you, and also to be there for you and not judge your character based off of you self-mutilating yourself. I wish everybody the best of luck with their problems, and I know that all of you can overcome your problems.
Untitled
Copyright Sarah
I came from a good family, the type that can see your cuts and are there for you, not the ones that send you straight to a nut house to get rid of you. Amongst my happy home life, there was another problem that I wasn’t aware of. I suppose I always had the potential to be a cutter, I kept everything inside, and I tried to hide from the world. I first started cutting when I was fourteen, or that’s how I remember it. Up until then I was constantly taunted by others at school and I had nothing to help relieve the mental pain I was feeling. One winter night I was at my brother’s place and I started to get those little insecure feelings, so for the first time I started listening to those feelings, they seemed to tell me to pick up my brother’s hobby knife and slice my arm. The first year of cutting wasn’t bad, merely scratches. But by the time I was fifteen, close to sixteen, I was losing my control on cutting, and it was getting control of me. I know it sounds odd how I refer to my cutting as a person, or a living, breathing thing, but to me it is. It’s grown from scratches, to gaping cuts that bleed for minutes without end. They’ve changed from long scratches to short and deep cuts, and now they’re the worst they’ve ever been, they’re long and gaping. Last night had did my worst cut ever. I remember feeling odd about it, because most people would try to talk themselves out of it, but I was talking myself into secretly. I was constantly repeating, “one, two, three, slice” and I did that about twenty times within ten minutes. I would realize it later that night, but I was losing my mind. I had called my friend Stephanie (Or Fluff as we call her) and wrote my other friend, Tina an e-mail talking about it. But, while I was on the phone with Fluff, my shoe was being completely filled up by blood running down my leg. After I hung up with her, I jumped in the shower to try to wash the blood off of me. When I was in there I let the water from the shower head beat down on the cut, so it would knock out the blood clots that were starting to form. As the water, and my stupidity, was making my leg bleed horribly again, I knelt down in the shower and prayed to God to help me get through and pass cutting. But after praying, I lost it. I remember being knelt down in the shower with bloody water all around me, and just listening to the water hit my back for the longest time. Finally, the water got cold and I snapped out of it. After I was all dry and had my mind back (slightly) I got dressed and I decided I had to tell at least my mom what had happened because I knew I needed stitches. Well, after a while they got home and my dad and my mom looked at the cut, honestly I think they were horrified. But my dad went to my Grandma’s house and got some tape and gauze to hold my skin together. As I sit here in school on this Thursday morning, the tape’s still holding. This morning my mom and I were discussing going to my family doctor and getting stitches, and my dad said it wasn’t a good idea. I sort of agreed with them, because if anyone else finds out about the one I have now, I would immediately be admitted to psych, it’s that bad. I think I had severed a nerve last night, because at the middle of the cut, I feel nothing, no pain, no itching, just nothing. The thought of me being surrounded by bloody water scared me. I’ll always remember it. But, I can never truely forget cutting because a lot of my friends do it too. I hope to stop and get them to stop too, but first I need to work a few things out with myself and God. I’m going to need his help more than anyone’s, even now as I sit in studyhall, worrying about general things. But, from all of this I have this small since of hope that seems to want to grow all of a sudden, and with God and my friends’ help, I plan to help it grow, and leave cutting behind, forever.
Untitled
Copyright Sarah
My name is Sarah. I am seventeen years old. I started self abuse at twelve. I used to take hammers and heels of my shoes and band my arms up. I would slam doors on my arms and drop hard objects on my body attempting to break a bone or two. I was raped at the age of fourteen, I didn’t tell anybody, but that was when I started cutting. I know why I do it, and I know that I like it. I have been hospitalised for cutting and suicide attemps four times. Once was long term. I have learnt coping skills and my life is getting better, yet I still cut. In secret, but not in shame. The scars are there to remind me of what was and what is… My life, myself, my world; I like my scars.
Trapped in a Fake Body
Copyright Sarah
I’m beautiful. Some even say gorgeous. But there’s something about feeling lost in yourself that makes your outer beauty do nothing but fake the people around you. I’m popular, my family is wealthy, I get along with my parents but for some reason, there’s something digging inside of me. Something aching to get out. I feel so anxious every day, every minute. I feel like a fake. I’m not a beautiful, popular, wealthy, happy girl on the inside. I’m dying inside. I’m scared of what I can do to myself. I am a beautiful, popular, wealthy, cutter screaming from the inside to be let out of this fake body. Can’t somebody help me?
Kein Thema
Copyright Sarah
Ich heiße Sarah und ich bin fünfzehn jahre. Ich habe mit dem Ritzen vor drei Jahren angefangen. Mir geht es damit ziemlich schlecht und es ist zur sucht geworden. Ich bin seid drei Monaten in einer Kinder- und Jugendpsychiatrie und werde jetzt entlassen. Aber vom Ritzen bin ich nie los gekommen. Ich warne alle davor jemals damit anzufangen. Es ist das schlimmste. Diese Narben werden immer bleiben, und ich werd es nie schaffen davon los zu kommen. Hatte auch schon vier Selbstmordversuche hintermir.
The Truth
Copyright Sarah
“Does it hurt?” says everyone who knows I do this. Yes it does, and no it doesn’t. It stings and aches, and itches when it’s healing. But the comfort of knowing what you did, how brave you are to do such a daring thing, makes the hurt go away. I would be lying if I said that I was not scared, in fact at times I am terrified, but I’m also happy, excited and ready for the next time I see my blood. Ready to take one more step and go deeper. At first it is like an experiment to see if outward pain will take away the inward pain. Even if you feel it doesn’t, your brain will tell you that it does, and you want to explore more into this new sensation. A lot of times I find myself remembering when I would fall and cut up my knees or elbows and I would cry to stop the outward pain, but now it’s the oposite, I am not ashamed, I am not embarresed, but I still hide, I am afraid of people’s thoughts, but I don’t care. It’s all a secret.
I have been cutting about two years now. The end of my ninth grade year is when my parents found out I was doing it. Then this year, my tenth grade year, it got pretty bad, to where my psychologist told my parents to put me in an acute hospital called Cypress Creek. After going there three times in one month, I got out and overdosed on thirteen 500mg pills of Tylenol. I was put back in Cypress Creek, then after 5 days there, I was sent to San Antonio, an RTC (Residential Treatment Center). Mostly the people were just there for anger and depression, but some where like me, cutters. I am now out of there, I have cut since I got out, but I am trying hard to stop.
Temptation is everywhere, and I hurt a lot. I cry my pain away, at least try, and I talk. I go to my psychologist three times a week, and at school when I feel upset I go to my school counselor, who I love to death, and talk about everything and anything… until I feel alive again.
Untitled
Copyright Sarah
I am a 17 year old Australian girl and I have been cutting for 3 and a half years. I would like to let people know who are just starting to get into this habit, to get help before it’s too late.
My friend started cutting after I did. One night she cut really deep, but she was too scared to tell anyone because her family didn’t understand, so she went to sleep. She never got help and she died.
Whenever I think of hurting myself, I think of her, and it makes me think twice. I really urge people to just get help, try and take your mind off it. It’s hard; believe me I know, but you could be saving your life.
Selfharm
Copyright Sarah
I am a 20 year old girl I have been self harming since I was 15 I took my first overdose in 1998. I was in intensive care for 2 days. I did want to die at the time and I still do now. People think that I am happy but I’m not. I am living at my aunties because of family problems. I still see mum and dad. They aren’t the reason. When I was 9 my stepgrandad abused me and my sister. Then I became 15. That’s when it started to go wrong. I was so angry at my stepsister. She said that my dad raped her. Now who do I believe? It’s so hard. I tell people how I’m feeling and they say “you’ll get over it.” Then the social servces took me into care because of my overdoses. That’s when I discovered cutting. It hurt at first but then I couldn’t feel it after a while. I was going to the hospital every 3 days to get my cuts treated. I want to stop but I can’t. My mum had a stroke 3 months ago and I blame myself. I love my family but sometimes I want to give it all up. Someday…
Untitled
Copyright Sarah
I’m sat here with a razor blade beside me, my arm in shreds from the 30 odd lines I’ve added to myself today. Better make sure there’s no blood on the keyboard or my mum might guess what’s happened when she gets home. I’ve just lied to my girlfriend (again). I told her about 20 minutes ago that I’d put away the razor for tonight. Since then I’ve done another 10 2-inch cuts with my blade.
I’m 15 and been doing this since I was 12. I’ve attempted suicide several times, the worst times were probably taking a cocktail of pills, alcohol and aerosols (didn’t work because I got high first — I swallowed a bottle of vitamin pills instead of paracetamol), and the time I took 12 paracetamol tablets then made myself sick because I changed my mind. Sometimes I wish I’d just died, would have saved me a lot of trouble.
I spent my maths lesson today writing “I hate myself” over 100 times. I then handed the book in to my teacher. Nothing will happen because no-one cares — not my parents, my school, my psychiatrist, my psychologist. My friends try their hardest to help me but I am beyond help. I am going to die.
I was bullied from age 8 and throughout my life my mother has told me things that I now realise may be less than true — like that my dad is evil, I am worthless and my friends are insane. It doesn’t matter what I think now — the damage is done. No one knows what I feel inside. When my mother threw a chair at me I blocked it out and thought it must have been my fault. When my “friends” at age 8 tied me to a post and beat me up, I didn’t even cry. Block it out, block it out. Smile, if you’re happy people will like you.
Rubbish. I have tried this and am now a loner. I can’t move freely around my school because of the harassment that my girlfriend and I face, because my lifestyle is not “conventional”. No one hears when I say I am human and I need to be loved, just like everybody else does.
I first made myself sick when I was 9 because I was so afraid to go to school. I first used a razor on my arm when I was 10. I was cutting regularly at age 12, getting stoned at 13 and drinking at 14. I’ve (almost) given up alcohol and solvents, but self-harm seems to keep coming back. No matter what I try — burning, biting, banging my head on walls, stabbing myself with pencils, starving myself, flushing my head down the toilet — I always go back to cutting because it’s what I’m best at. My razor blade is both my worst enemy and my best friend.
I don’t want to stop. I truly believe that this ritual/habit is keeping me alive. I go through phases of not cutting for two or three weeks, maybe even months, then turning my left arm into ribbons for days at a time. This depression is one day going to take my life — by cutting myself and dealing with my pain, I am keeping that day as far away as possible.
Downward Spiral
Copyright Sarah
My name is Sarah. I’m 16 years old and a self injurer. But unlike many self injurers out there, my reasons for being this way are different. I was not abused. I was not raped or molested as a child. I was not in a foster home. On the contrary, my parents both love me and I’m very close with them, as well as my two brothers and one sister. My self injury stems from the disorder I have.
You see, I’m a heavier girl. I’ve never been thin and I never will be. Toned, perhaps, but never like the “others.” I was very introverted as a child and showed signs of depression from my early years.
My parents separated when I was three, but remained on good terms. I took the separation hard. My mother got together with someone new, who ended up raising me in a fatherly way and became a surrogate dad for me, especially when I went through the stage of hating my real father. When he and my mother spilt up six years ago, when I was eleven, my world crumbled. For the first time in my short life, I hurt myself intentionally by cutting with a razor. I don’t remember why, but I didn’t do it again for years; until last fall, when I was fifteen. I’d been to two highschools already and onto my third. I was still overweight and had poor self esteem. My grades slipped drastically. And so did my mind.
I met a girl at the new school named Niki, who re-introduced me to cutting. She didn’t intend for me to begin, but seeing her arms and hearing her tales was enough. I began to cut again. The release I felt was tremendous; and it still is.
My thoughts began to run together, which was strange for me, seeing as I usually had a good control on them. Things seemed so downright bleak for me, everything from friends and family to school to my own self. In late October, I was prescribed Lorazapame, an anti-anxiety drug. It helped, but made me tired. I was only on it for a month.
By the time Christmas came, my arms and legs were ravaged. Most of my cuts were on my legs during that time and because I’m overweight and have odd circulation, the wounds don’t heal properly on my legs, making them last longer. I accepted this as more pain I could take. I felt strong, but at the same time, weak.
I spent the night at Niki’s shortly before Christmas. Her and I both ended up talking and crying, both having fits and cutting. I called my mother and told her I needed help. So in January 2001, I started seeing a psychiatrist. He put me on Paxil, an anti-depressant and when my sleep began being disturbed, Trazadone, which is an anti-depressant/anxiety and also a sedative. I was in charge of taking my “meds” and frequently took too many or not enough. Then I became addicted to Codeine through Tylenol 3’s. I finally got myself off those and continued on Paxil and Trazadone, not telling my shrink much about how I was. Meanwhile, I was slipping away from everything and everyone.
I was finally diagnosed with a form of depression known as dysthymia, which is a step below manic. Alongside that, I have an excessive anxiety disorder, obsessive-compulsiveness and I’m addicted, to this day, to marijuana and nicotine (I smoke). So in light of this, I naturally felt awful. I felt guilty, sad, angry; and a whole lot of other things I’d never known I could feel.
The night before my Sweet 16, which is February 14th, I chased a half bottle of Tylenol 3’s with a bottle of red wine and sliced my wrists. I passed out on my bedroom floor and thought that was that. I woke up the next day to the sound of my alarm clock. So I hadn’t suceeded. I was still alive. And very much wishing I was dead. I’d attempted suicide several times before, but not like that. And I had to go to school that day, seeing as it was my birthday. What a surprise to see the newly 16 year old me looking like I spent the night in a dumpster.
As the months flew by, the drug addictions slowed. My cutting slowed as I started seeing a therapist along with my shrink. I was taken off Trazadone a month ago for trying to OD, which resulted in me being in the hospital.
My therapy is going well, but I still don’t feel right. I feel like I need to cut, and I still do sometimes. I cut my wrist 3 nights ago and my stomach and leg about 3 weeks ago. But I am making progress.
I guess someday I’ll look back on this and laugh, but I don’t think about that. I think about trying to get myself out of myself. Of trying to make my world stop spinning and flinging me about in its path.
Untitled
Copyright Sarah
To make you understand why I started self harming you will have to know what I’ve been through in school. It all started in year 10, a certain group of lads were constantly bullying me. Then one day the leader of the group of lads got his two older brothers to pin me down whilst he raped me one night in my local park. This was only 6 months ago, and I’m only 15. However, the bullying started about 9 months ago, this is when I found that if I cut my arms it gave me an extraordinary sense of relief, I felt that I was worthless and this was the only way to punish myself for the way I was, and it was just a bonus that I found I actually liked the pain and the feelings of relief it gave me and I have now become addicted to cutting, I use it to deal with any issue or problem I have. I use any excuse I can find to get out of p.e, even forging notes to my teacher just so that I dont have to get changed and risk anyone seeing my arms. If I told you that I wasn’t scared, I’d be lying, I am scared, scared of loosing control when I have the knife held to my arm. I have no eating disorder and to everyone else (including my mum) I seem a normal, happy girl. The school told my mum about the rape when I freaked out when a male teacher just tapped me on the shoulder from behind, I broke down cying to my female head of year and told her what had happened. But no one knows about the cutting. I hope my story makes someone else who is self harming realize that they are not the only one. I would suggest for them to tell a responsible adult what they are doing, I would if I could build up the courage, if they are like me and can’t bring themselves to tell an adult, tell a close friend; it’s better to have someone to talk to.
I hope my story helps.
Love, Sarah
One Of My Journal Entries
Copyright Sarah
I can’t cope anymore. No, I can’t. I don’t fucking understand anything. I’m so confused about everything, seriously, am I happy or sad? Am I thick or clever? Am I fat or thin? Am I a good friend or a bad friend? Fuck I’m confused, is it obvious or not? “When I look in the kitchen and see that knife, I really want to end my life. But I don’t have the nerve to do that kind of thing, I don’t have the strength within.” That’s a contradiction in itself. Feel crap as usual. Friends are shit. I don’t understand any of them, I’m just too paranoid. Fuck, I am not I. I always believe people see the bad in me. I know everyone can see how shit I am. I just don’t understand anything. My self-harm was better, but now it’s bad again. My depression and paranoia are 100 times worse. Figure that out. I feel so sad and unhappy. “I’m on the outside and I’m looking in, I can see through you, See your true colours, Inside you’re ugly, Ugly like me, I can see through you, See your true colours.”
Another Journal Entry
Copyright Sarah
I spend all my days persuading myself that I am happy, I am content, I’m not a looser, I will smile. But as much as I attempt to believe this facade, I know that deep down, I am exactly the same person that I was a few months ago. Emotionally still screwed. Mentally screwed. Bloody hell, why am I so insecure? It’s pathetic shit I know — I’m painfully aware of that — but it keeps bringing me down, so far down. I’m not making sense, I never do though do I? I am yet to stop cutting myself, It’s so stupid I know, but although its not a physical addiction, its a mental addiction. Weird. One wouldn’t understand unless they knew from first hand experience. I just can’t seem to break the cycle I’ve got myself into; the self hatred crap, the depression. I try hard to beat it and be happy, content, but I can’t seem to do it. There’s always something inside of me; pulling, tugging, grabbing me back. Every time I take one step forward, I take five back. Why? It’s my own fault though, I’ve brought it on myself. If I wasn’t such a bad person I wouldn’t be fucked up. If only. I don’t even feel worthy of cutting myself. Sounds queer. It’s just. Why? I hate myself for being such a weak person. Oh, I don’t know anything anymore. Holy fuck, I seriously want to die.
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Copyright Sarah
My name is Sarah and I am 16 years old. I have been cutting myself since I was in seventh grade (I am a junior in high school now). I can remember how the idea of cutting was instilled in my mind. I had seen an article in one of those teen magazines that girls in middle school hoard. It was about a girl somewhat close to my age that had been cutting herself and had gotten help. An article that was supposed to help people with a problem had actually given me the idea to create one for myself. I began cutting myself mostly on my upper arms for two years. The cuts had never bled much and had been somewhat infrequent. I began to cut myself much worse when I was in my freshman year because I had never cared about my grades and now I had and was doing so well but the pressure was kind of a trigger for me. I only had one advanced class; english, which I had actually loved. I think I may be somewhat of a perfectionist. In the following year, I had taken all advanced classes and I had a very difficult time trying to keep my standing. I am now in my junior year and I am actually taking advanced classes and a college english, which I also love. I still cut myself. I think I am getting better slowly though because I do want to get help. I think it will take me a while to ask for help because I feel like I have more going for me right now, this year, than I have ever. This year is so important in selecting and going to colleges and, in general, my future. I am afraid I will interrupt anything important. My friends have always been nice, but to me, so selfish. My friends only care about superficial things in their own lives rather than serious problems in other’s. My biggest reason for cutting myself is that I am alone. No one really knows what is going on with me. I have so many friends but not one would seem to care. I feel like I cannot depend on anyone else and that I have to take care of myself. I can think of a couple of friends that I could go to for help and to tell them but I am somewhat scared of their reaction and of putting a burden or pain on someone else I care about. I still cut myself but less frequently than I was doing in the end of my sophomore year. I think the reason for my slowing down at this point was a scare I had this summer when I had shut myself in the bathroom, broke open a razor with a hammer, and cut my left wrist really hard. I pressed the blade in my skin hard and the skin was open and bled alot. I still have a pretty bad scar from it which I assume will fade but never entirely go away. This was something that made me want to get help. The scar kind of reminds me that I need to get help and that I have to overcome this or it will really mess me up. I think even though I may never be able to approach an adult or professional and ask for help, I am working on asking my close friends for help.
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Copyright Sarah
I guess I’m a troubled teen. Well at least that’s what everyone keeps telling me!
My mum and dad got divorced when I was 9 and mum got remarried a few years ago! Mum has two jobs so she’s never home and my big sister doesn’t live with us anymore so basically it’s just me and my step dad.
He isn’t the best father of the world! He’s fucked up. Man, he hits and kicks me when no one’s around and of course my dear old mama just blames it on me: She says that it was my fault or someting, like I deserved it.
I just couldn’t handle the guilt and the shame so I developed an eating disorder and started cutting myself. It’s so weird. When the blade goes deep into your wrists and the blood runs down to your arms you feel, I dunno, better I guess; well, for a while anyways.
But even though I found comfort from cutting it didn’t remove the pain my step dad caused me so I started running away. But mum and stepdad always found me and brought me back.
But a little over a year ago I run away for good.
I made friends with older kids who were living on the streets. Around that time I turned to drugs big time. I mean I had been doing coke and smoked pot all the time but now drugs became my world.
We did some crazy shit me and my friends to get money and drugs.
So there I was: Anorexic, doing all kinds of drugs: Coke, meth, smack, crack, you name it, I was living on the streets, I was scared and messed up. And I would have killed myself… If I hadn’t been cutting myself. It’s strange, but it saved my life!
For like a week ago my big sis found me. She had heard that I had run away from home. She sought out my biologic dad and I went to live with him and day after tomorrow he’s sending me to some wilderness therapy school for troubled teens. I so don’t wanna go! I miss my friends. I miss the drugs kinda too. But my dad doesn’t know that I’m still cutting and I’m freaking out because I know that those counselors there will check my arms and stuff so I think I have to stop cutting. But I can’t. It’s been my comfort, I survived because of it. I’m so scared!
Strength to everyone. I know how you feel, I’m with you!
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Copyright Sarah
I’m 16 now. I started to SI when I was 13. My parents never found out until last year. Funny, huh? I had been doing it for 2 years before they found out. I was really good at hiding it. I would cut on my arms in the winter. I would cut my upper arms when it was t-shirt wearing season and I would cut my hips when it was bikini season. I still want to do it. I really haven’t stopped. Last week my mother found out about my hips so now I can’t do it there anymore. They threaten to take everything away from me if I don’t stop but I can’t see how that will help any. I’m seeing a therapist but he doesn’t help. He just sits there and pulls at his loose skin. Gross! I hate talking to him. I hate talking to anyone who doesn’t understand because it just frustrates me more and makes me feel more isolated. I like to keep my problems to myself or with other SI’ers. In my school I am deeply involved in theatre. I know 10 fellow actors/actresses who are also SI’ers. So I can talk to anyone there. It’s really like my family. I recommend anyone who has a very dramatic personality to join theater. It helps me express my feelings better because that’s the reason why I cut myself — because I feel like no one understands and I can’t get it out. It’s like one of my common dreams where i’m opeining my mouth to talk but sound refuses to come out. Sorry. now I feel like I’m babbling… Well, now since I’ve had to stop… I feel even more lost.
Sarah sent me this update:
I’ve already written once about my life but now I want to talk more. I love this website because, well, it’s anonymous. But I can say whatever I want. So, lately I’ve been feeling really frustrated. I mean I punch walls. Poke needles into my skin. Anything that is discreet but still helps. And I think I’m becoming bulimic. Not bad but instead of cutting myself I’ll shove my fingers down my throat and throw up. I almost get the same feeling as I do after I cut. But this I know can seriously damage my throat and cutting just leaves scars. I’m trying to stop. Well I am now because I… uh… am going to the dentist in about three weeks and I don’t want them to tell my parents. I don’t even know if they could find out from looking inside my mouth or if stopping would hide all evidence of me doing it. I really just want everyone to leave me alone and just let me cut myself. You know, SI’ers can be actually envied. I mean, we’re the ones who actually found something to make the pain go away. I don’t see what the point of stopping is if you’re not putting your life in jeopardy. I know I always cut shallow and I would never accidently kill myself. If you accidentally slit your wrists too deep and bled to death would it be counted as suicide? Sorry… Now I’m just thinking out loud. So, anyways, back to the point. Everyone’s point really. We’re all hurting some way or another. And now the people who “care”, in my case at least, are making me hurt more by making me stop. I feel like no one really listens. Except my theatre family. Not my parents. Not my siblings. Not my friends. Not even my therapist. Like I said before in my other entry. The only people who seem to understand are other SI’ers like everyone on this website and my fellow actors. I wish everyone would stop judging me and what I do to my body. It’s mine. It’s the only thing no one can take away from me. Well, besides murdering me. But then I wouldn’t be alive to care. So why can’t people just let me do what I want. I want to do what I want to my body and it’s my right. I know. I sound sick. But I hope anyone who reads this understands me.
Another update from Sarah:
Okay. I’m going to dare put my email on here. I know my mother checks it sometimes but… hey, who cares, right? All right. I’ve written two times before. And I can’t help but want to tell strangers more about myself. The problem that seems to be more recent is Hayden (that’s not his real name, I don’t want to put it on here because he SI’s too and if he saw it I don’t think he would be very happy so I used the name Hayden. Hayden C. from Life as a House). I know it sounds childish but I think I love him. Yeah. Even as I write it, it sounds really silly. But okay. So I’m not ugly. But I’m not extrememly beautiful either. Hayden was the first guy who’s ever looked and talked to me like I was desirable. It made me feel so beautiful. He didn’t think anything of it because that is his personality. He teases girls. But… Wow. I know for 5 months now I can’t get him off of my mind. He’s so handsome and sexy and smart and he’s in a band. He has a job. He’s in theatre. I couldn’t want more. But he’s a senior and I’m a sophmore and he’s graduating. I’m afraid I’m never going to see him again. The thing with Hayden is that he doesn’t really have anything to do with me. We met. He said some nice things to me and then he stopped talking to me. I found out later during a drunken phone call to him at his work it was because I was coming on too strong and he had just gotten out of a relationship so he wasn’t really interested in anyone. I think that is just because he didn’t like me but it was his nice way of putting: “it’ll never happen”. So, things after that had been kind of strange because we always saw each other in the hallways and in theater. Then I started working as the production assistant in one of our schools spring shows and since the lead of the play got arrested Hayden became the lead. So I was happy that I got to see him every day but it was still a little weird. Then for our good show gifts I gave him a water-filled penguin (he loves penguins) and he was so happy he gave me a hug. I know what everyone is thinking “oh wow, a hug, big deal”. But for me it was. I always have problems with guys. I’m always the friend. Never the girlfriend. So from Hayden the hug meant a lot. Then at our banquet I dressed up real nice. I felt so pretty. And Hayden looked at me when I said hi to him and he gave me another hug. Let’s just say Sarah was happy. Gosh. I know that all sounds like a bunch of crap but Hayden made me stop cutting for a month. Because I thought maybe he didn’t like me because of all my scars. But then I found out that he did the same thing. He also was a SI’er. It made me feel so sad for him because I know what I go through every day trying to push the cravings to the back of my head and I didn’t want that for him. I didn’t want him to feel the hurt and pain that I feel everyday. And he made it temporarily go away for me but I don’t know what I could do to help him. Because I want to help him so much. Now the year is almost over and I’ll probably never see him again. I’ll just have our memories. Wow, don’t I sound dramatic? Well, if anyone has any advice I’d greatly appreciate it. Oh, and if someone would just like to talk feel free to email me.
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