Jane
I have been cutting for 2 years. I started when I was 11 and I’m 13 now, 14 in May (2004). It all started because of the abuse I get off my family. Verbal and phsyical. But it has come to a point now where I just do it. No reason at all. Sure I still get abuse but not as much. Not since I confronted my family and told them I hate them. But they still abuse me. Sometimes I get so depressed over the memories and just bleed it out. Sometimes I just do it. I’m at the point where it has become an addiction. No one believes me when I tell them it is, they think I do it for attention when that is as far from the truth as can be. I have cut less lately because I am losing all the friends I have. Which isn’t many. I have thrown away countless cutting devices but only found more. There is no hope of me giving up. Sometimes I want to, but most of the time I don’t. People want me to stop. They think it’s easy but they don’t understand. I don’t want to stop. But I don’t want scars. It sucks.
Being in my position is like being in a circle of blood thirsty dogs. My SI problem has created a vicious circle around me. Everytime I get depressed, I cut, then I get depressed because I cut, so I cut more, then I get depressed more and cut more. It goes on and on like that. But it’s not the only reason I cut. I first started because of the abuse and violence I get from my family. My “father” beat me and I couldn’t take it. I remember the first time I did it. I didn’t really think about it. I knew that SI existed in the world and I was curious. So I got out my scissors and cut. The long scars are from scissors, the small but deeper ones are from blades detached from a disposable razor, and the new cuts and purply scars are from a kitchen knife. I first cut when I was 11 and a couple weeks old. I’m surprised there are still scars because I didn’t cut as deep then. My scissors were relatively blunt. I progressed to the blade when I was about 12 and my friends had disposed them at a recent get together. Only recently I had discovered a knife. At first it was deepish but now it doesn’t quite go as deep as I would like. I know that’s a good thing, yet I yearn for it to go further in. I don’t do it for the pain. Just the blood. I love gore and seeing my own blood being drawn from my flesh by myself is exhilerating and it makes me feel alive. When I first started I never thought it would be a problem. But it is. The violence in my house has calmed down. I had confronted my family and told them I hated them. Now everyone leaves me be. Being alone has advantages and disadvantages. Sometimes when I’m alone I just feel happy and peaceful. Other times I get so lonely and depressed and that is when I start cutting. I know my cuts aren’t as extreme as many on here, and I know it hasn’t elevated to a point where it would drive some one away from doing it. I just wanted to show people that cuts don’t just come with scars. They come with a loss of dignity, selfhatred and a fear of people knowing. But that is just me. Some people like the scars. I occasionally like mine. It’s the big ones I’m proud of. But I still feel weak because they aren’t half as big as some I’ve seen. The deepest is probably about 2 cm. But it still leaves scars which I find hard to hide. My sister had already confronted me once. But I denied it, of course. Cutting is something that comes with many problems. Some one who doesn’t do it will never understand. That is what I find the hardest about it.
