I recently was told by a friend about this site. I think this site is a good idea. I’ve been cutting for 12 years. I am 19 years old. When I was little I used to scratch my arms and legs until they bled and I never knew why. My grandma never did anything. One day I just picked up a piece of glass and scratched with it. I don’t remember why I started to do this, but I did and I liked the way it made me feel. As time passed I began to use things like safety pins, and razor blades. I became suicidal and my grandma made me go to counceling. She said I needed some type of punishment for it. Along with counceling came grounding. She just isolated me more.
I don’t really know how this will help anyone, but I guess it just makes me feel less alone.
I’ve benn toeing the line of suicide since, oh, about seventh grade. Now I’m about to enter tenth and I still haven’t dealt with it.
People who don’t cut don’t understand it. I’ve tried to explain it to the few who know but they either call me stupid or just try and parallel it to something completely unrelated.
Hi, I’m Chris. I’m fourteen years old and a freak, but I have learnt to live with that.
I’m getting one of my attacks again. I call them paranoia attacks, and they’re perfect to explain this matter. Without feeling them, I can’t explain anything.
I decide to open my mouth on this matter. I don’t care if no one reads it, but it beats talking to a clock, and believe me I’ve tried that. I was brought up in a good family. Only problem was that my family brought me up to be a forever six year old. I wasn’t taught to think for myself. I was not allowed to play outside with other kids my age. In fact, I still can’t ride a bike. In my country everyone plays soccer. Anyone who can’t play is considered a freak, and I can barely kick the ball right.
The only self harm I have done in about eight weeks, is two scratches on my arm, but not bad, just surface scratches, which have gone a day later. But this got me thinking about it all again. I have SH’ed for six years now, and have only just started to want to stop. People close to me have wanted me to, my parents, cousin, other family, and close friend who knew, but I didn’t want to, which was the important factor in stopping. I did try to for them, but I just couldn’t — I didn’t want to. SH made me feel better, gave me control. It took away my anger. Whether that is right or wrong, well who is to judge.
The first time I cut I wanted to kill myself. I was 14 years old. I didn’t have the courage to go deep enough, but found that it provided a kind of rush and relief that I had never experienced.
Looking at the scars I felt bad and vowed never to do it again.
I managed to maintain a grip on things for about six months, then my aunt had a stroke. Everyone in my family refused to involve me, telling me I was too young.
So I cut again a few times after that. They were not that bad, and that was it for a while.
Many people ask me why? Why did I cut myself, why did I take an overdose, why did I want to kill myself that bad, well I had a lot of pain inside of me that was hurting me a lot, and the way to get pain out was to cut and get it out, at the time when I was doing it, it was fine it seemed the right thing to do, I felt I had to punish myself, but now when I look at my scars and look back on what I did I feel so ashamed and angry with myself. I really hate myself sometimes, my cutting has left me a lot of scars many on my arms legs and stomach and I wish they were not there.
My name is Cristal. I am 17 years old. I cut, bite, and overdose. It all started when my boyfriend dumped me and I got depression. Five months later a guy who was my mom’s boyfriend left. So I became suicidal. That was Nov. 15, 2000. On Nov. 20 I wrote a suicide note and gave it to somebody. They called the cops and I went to the emergency mental hospital for a few hours then I went home. On Dec. 14, 2000 I started cutting. And I still do it now I bite and overdose. I have overdosed 11 times within 10 months. I haven’t overdosed in 7 weeks but I still cut once in a while. So I know what you people are going through. I was raped etc. by friends and family.
I wrote anonymously on Saturday night with the closing sentence “I want to die”. This morning I slit my wrists after my husband had gone to work. I initially toyed with the idea, dragging the blade across my left wrist lightly, then I cut my right wrist deep enough to touch the vein but didn’t cut into it. I did that twice. Both my wrist were bleeding but not pouring like I was going to die. I was just going to cut them deep when my dog started to jump up at the house from outside in the yard and wimper. I guess he could hear me crying.