I remember the first time I really cut. I was on the phone with my boyfriend. I was crying so hard but at the same time it was quiet because I didn’t want my parents in the other room to hear me. I felt this wrenching pain in my chest, it was like all the hope inside of me disappeared and all that was left was hurt. I don’t remember what our fight was about. I only remember that he made me feel worthless. He made me feel like I didn’t deserve to be happy, like I deserved to be hurt. So I hurt myself. I’d done it before but it was always so subtle. This time when I grabbed the scissors, I could feel my world turn upside down. I sat in my bed, with the phone between my shoulder and my ear, tears pouring down my face. I was sitting on my knees facing the headboard of my bed, a pillow right in front of my knees with a pair of scissors waiting for me. I held them in my hand knowing what I was going to do, unable to think of anything but what I was about to do. Reason was just beyond comprehension at this point. I closed my eyes and cut my wrist. I pushed harder and harder but I barely felt pain. A calm flowed through me after I cut. Reality was brought to the surface. Suddenly I was only sitting on my bed holding a bleeding wrist. The calm that flowed through me was more like whatever the opposite of hope is. It made me stop caring. Suddenly I felt like I would do anything to just not care and to just move on past this fight I was having with my boyfriend. It was almost as if cutting myself let a drug leak into my veins and this coolness flowed through me.
I tried to ignore the entirety of what I had done. For a while, I stopped cutting. If I did cut, it was nothing. Then I discovered razors. Razors are better than scissors. I cut a little more often. I looked at the world around me. Even though I should be happy, I wasn’t. I had a boyfriend, friends, a brand new car, loving parents, good grades, but not happiness. That was the only thing I didn’t have. So, feeling like something will always be missing, I go back to the boyfriend who I first cut for. Again he hurt me. This time it was too much. I couldn’t take all of the mess around me. I didn’t care that it wasn’t night, or that my step dad was home. This time I got new razor blades and a rag. I didn’t cry this time. I was angry and hurt and it was all of the pain that I had kept inside that was coming out. I cut three times on my wrist. The deepest cuts I’ve ever done. After I cut, I cried. I cried because I was scared I’d cut too deep. I panicked and called the only friend I thought could understand. The only one I’d ever told that I cut. I called her crying and barely getting out words. I said that I wasn’t sure if I needed to go to the hospital, half out of panic, and half to just get her to understand that I needed her help. She dropped everything she was doing and came to help me. Nothing she said really made a difference, but that she came to my side when I needed her to did.
I’ve been to three or four counsellors. I think they are full of BS. None of them ever helped me, but none of them needed to. I needed to figure it out on my own. To figure out that I am a good person and that I don’t need anyone to tell me that. I let someone bring me down to the point where I hated myself so much I hurt myself. I thought because ‘he loved me’ that he was right. I learnt that it doesn’t matter if he loved me or if he was right or wrong. It matters that I am the only one who can stop the pain inside of me from getting any worse. When you are hurt, you are blind to the reasons. I read a million stories, I thought a million thoughts. I just never let myself see the truth. I refused to believe that I started to cut myself because of him. Once I realised that, my world turned right back to where it should’ve been. When I feel really down, I think back to when I was a kid. I think about all the dreams I had as a child and I look to them as hope. When I was young I had an amazing courage and strength, I was so much stronger and happier than I am now. I look to my inner child for my strength and I am the one pulling me through. Nobody else.
I’m only twelve, but I’ve already been cutting for three years. I understand the emotional distress as well as an adult. I remember my first time, but it was nothing drastic. I took a straightedge razor and ran it across my wrist, for no apparent reason. I loved the sight of my own blood, and I was automatically hooked. Even then, it wasn’t serious, and it didn’t get that way until about a year later. I was ‘taken advantage of’ by somebody older than me who I trusted, and I broke down. It still haunts me to this day. The images flashed before me vividly when I realised he didn’t care about me. I took my straightedge and slashed at my wrist. It must have bled for an hour. The gash was huge. I believe that’s still the reason I cut today, and I can’t imagine it being taken away from me. My parents, friends, and teachers know, so it’s no big secret anymore. I hope one day I wont need to cut to be happy, but that’s a dream which will probably never be achieved. I still cut on a daily basis. I hate to see what my arms will look like ten years from now.