W
Featured Stories
Weeping Witch
I’m a 16 year old girl who thinks nothing of life. I hate my mother for giving birth to me and my only wish is to die! I started drum majorettes last year and I saw some freaky scratches on her arms, every time someone asked her what happened she said her cat scratched her, but I knew better. I thought that it would be easier to get rid of my own problems by cutting myself, so I did and it was worth it! Everyone at drummies knew that the cat didn’t really scratch me but I made sure my parents would not find out!
Whitney
I don’t really know how I ended up on this website, but I’m almost glad I did. And I really don’t know why I’m writing this, but I think it’s a part of my soul that’s been locked up for so long that I don’t know how else to express it.
I’m 16 years old and a recovering anorexic/self-injurer. Last year was the final battle between self… and self, I guess. I had been cutting, burning, picking, biting, and overdosing (which I didn’t know was part of SI) since I was 12 years old. It had become increasingly worse as my eating disorder became more serious. Like most on this page, it was the only way I could get a sense of who I thought was me, the only way I could feel, or just for a moment; stop feeling. It never occured to me that I was hurting everyone who was watching me tumble into the depths of Hell.
Winterskye
It’s an interesting thing. Cutting is a small subculture at my school. I know about 6 other people who do it. My best friend and I have scars for each other. Hers is from when she first found out that I had started (she has done it for a lot longer), and I have a few from a fight we had.
At first I did it for attention, I hoped it would be found, but after a while it became my secret high. Then my mom found out and started yelling at me about it, and I almost laughed in her face. Now my parents are talking about taking me to a shrink, but they don’t seem to realize that I won’t talk and I won’t stop. I love my scars; I think they are the most beautiful things about me. At first I just used a serrated knife, because it cut easier without as much pain, then I went to a regular blade, and now I’m at razors, safety pins, push pins, and other pointed objects. I don’t cut as much anymore as I carve. I have a lovely scar that says “escape” on my arm (that’s from when I was thinking about a boyfriend I was about to break up with), and among the normal, boring, straight scars I have the words “hate” “pain” “disturbed” (my favorite band), a couple of anarchy signs and a flower (my personal one that I have drawn since 6th grade).
Wendy
I slowly placed the razorblade to my wrist, and began to cut. I didn’t think about if it would hurt, or how much I would bleed. Or even how many people would notice and care. The cut didn’t look any different than a cat scratch, or a paper cut. I was cutting because I didn’t have any way to deal with all the pain and suffering that I had been going through. That and I didn’t feel as if I was alive. So being able to cut myself and see the blood and feel the sharp quick moments of pain I knew that I was alive and this whole charade was not just a dream. Soon I was addicted to cutting. I was getting treatment for it, but no one except for a few friends and my sister knew that I was still cutting. School is almost out and I have made at least a total of 230 cutts on my body from a razorblade.
Sidebar
Share Your Story
See the Contributing Content guide for information on how to add your story to the site.
Update Notification
Subscribe to newsletter that will notify you of updates to Psyke.org.
