Kassandra
It all started last year. I never knew so many people did this. It was like a secret that no one could know about, or else shame should fall upon me. It started out like most, doing it a little, and then gradually getting deeper, bloodier, and more frequent. I’m fifteen, I have been only dealing with it for a year. I can’t imagine doing it as long as some. Soon, my mom found out. I can’t exactly pinpoint the time, but all she had to say when she found out was (her exact words) “that looks like shit”. Can you imagine your mother saying that to you? I mean, it felt like she didn’t even care. Like I meant nothing to her. I mean it had already felt like everyone was against me, in my own house. Now for her to say that, it made me feel like nothing. I have been dealing with depression since 5th grade. The severity of it had only grown more intense when I was fourteen. Today I am fifteen, soon to be sixteen. I still cut, but only under major stress. I go to a psychiatrist and a counsellor. They tell me I’m not supposed to cut. They say there are better solutions out there. But what they don’t know is that when you’re so used to cutting it’s hard just to stop. It’s hard just to do something else to occupy your mind off of it. I mean I could have done a thousand things but in the end I would always give in to the temptation. In February 2005, I lost a dear friend who died in a car accident. That was the time when the cutting was the worst. I had over two hundred cuts on my body at once. I was cutting every day and it was about fifteen cuts or more per sitting. I’ve needed stitches, but never got them. Now I have to live with these scars. I’m very hypocritical on the subject of cutting. I always tell people that cut not to cut. And I always show them the scars that are the cause of such a disastrous thing. I’m a cutter… so what?
