Popularity, I hate that word, that one word destroyed my life, when I was young I never really thought about it, I was comfortable with myself, I was a happy little girl, until I started to notice that if you want to be someone you have to be popular, you have to have friends, you have to be pretty. It’s all a load of bull, I know that now but back then I was blind. I was twelve and was being bullied at school, I watched as these girls paraded around the place like they were queens, I wanted to be like them. So I decided that I was going to do whatever it took to be part of their crew.
It didn’t go so well, I was hanging round with these girls, they wouldn’t accept me, I tried and I tried but nothing would work, they were always being horrible to me, bullying me, I started to make myself believe that I was a bad person and that was why they didn’t like me. I started to cut when I was thirteen, three and a half years ago. I didn’t know why I was doing it I just knew that it was making me feel better, it wouldn’t matter anymore if someone was nasty because I knew I could cut myself and it would be OK again. I was looking for an excuse to hurt myself in any way. I started to realise how much I liked the sight of my own blood, so every weekend I would get drunk, knowing that I would cut deeper and that there would be more blood, my so-called friends knew what I was doing and I got the stupid attention seeker bull off them all, they just wanted an excuse to pick on me, I think maybe it made them feel better, after a year or so of self-harming I started to become obsessed with it, I would have a collection of knives and razor blades, I knew what parts of my body hurt more than others and what parts bleed more, I would cut my arms and my wrists because I liked the scars, I would cut my legs for more of a release and my stomach or chest if I wanted some real pain as I found that it hurt more there, this went on till I was a bout fifteen, then I got serious, I was frightening myself by how deep I was cutting and by how many cuts I was doing at one time but still I didn’t care, at school I had sort of become a popular figure, everyone knew who I was anyway. My last year at school was the wildest, I was cutting, hitting and burning just for fun, I didn’t care, I felt good at school and so I did what I wanted, I’d go out at the weekend get very drunk and would take drugs, I liked the fact that I thought I had become the girl I always wanted to be. Now I’m gonna be seventeen in a few months and I realise that all I did was wrong, I’m covered in around two hundred scars and I hate every one of them, self-harm was something I thought that I controlled, now I see that it’s the one thing that controls me, being popular means nothing, being thin, being pretty, how hard you are, it means nothing you don’t have friends, you just know people, that’s all being popular is, I look back at the states I got myself in, the suicide attempts, the tears and all of it for what, my mind body and soul are scarred for life, there ain’t nobody there, you search for something that doesn’t exist, now I’m lonely, and trying to fight back the voices in my head, self-harm isn’t my answer, it’s my exuse. I know what it’s like to die on the inside and that will always stay with me, now I just battle with depression and try and stay in control of my life, one day the sun might shine down on me but for now I just have to wait.
If anyone ever wants to talk just e-mail me, I know whats it’s like, talking isn’t always the answer but sometimes it can help.