My name is Jenna. I have been a SI’ing since 7th grade. I don’t know what triggered my depression but it impacted my life and family very greatly.
My best friend Arielle is an SI’er also. We have both been though some very hard times and we helped each other though all of it. My depression started toward the end of 7th grade. I was hospitalised I think once and went to an outpatient program called PHP (Partial Hospitalisation Program). There I met kids my age going through the same things as me, and I found I was not alone. I stayed there for about two months and didn’t go to school. I came back I think the last day of school.
Over the summer I got severely depressed again. My swim coach, who will stay anonymous, had also been an SI’er. She told me about her story and helped me with mine. Over that summer I didn’t care about anyone or anything. I just wanted to get out of this world.
In June, my parents separated. Dealing with that and pressure at school was horrible. I had attempted suicide before the separation, but now that’s all I wanted to do, kill myself. 8th grade was already a hard year from the beginning. The first day of school I was already kicked out of two classes, Spanish and Band. I didn’t mind that because I didn’t like either of the classes, but it didn’t seem I was having a very good start. 8th grade I was hospitalised seven times. Three inpatient, and four outpatient. By that time I was sick and tired of the hospital and I figured I needed to bring my life around. I realised that so many people cared about me and if I didn’t want to live for myself, I would live for my friends and family.
Just as I started to get some self confidence and get happy, things took a great fall. Rumours around school saying I was the biggest whore, I gave head to two people in the same day, all this crap. I lost all of my friends, including my best friend, Arielle. I held on for a long time without cutting, but being made fun of every single day was horrible. I started to become an SI’er again. Later I got most of my friends back and everything seemed to be better, until recently.
Recently, three of my ex-friends (two of which had started that rumour about me, and one was my best friend, Danny) have been playing this ‘game’ to see who can make me commit suicide first. Every time they thought I was sad, cut, cried, got mad etc. they would get a certain amount of points. They did this by spreading more rumours about me and making fun of me constantly, you have no idea. Let me tell you, I haven’t cried that hard in a very long time. But then, things got worse. My boyfriend, Davon, had moved to Tennessee at the end of 7th grade, and I haven’t seen him since. He was supposed to come down on Wednesday the 29th of December. I had been waiting for that moment for the longest time. But last minute, he had told me that he wasn’t coming down. I was so sad, words cannot describe it. I was thinking of cutting myself, but that would only make things worse.
So, here I am, fourteen years old and from now on, I am going to be SI free! I hope the same for you!
My life took a turn for the worst when I was fifteen. I started cutting myself as a way to relieve my pain. I started because my parents were always yelling at me for some reason. I couldn’t handle the pain. I didn’t tell anyone about my cutting except for my best friend Max. He tried to help me but he couldn’t, nobody could. The cutting has continued for three years now. I am eighteen and getting ready for college, but I still hurt myself. I got into an argument with my boyfriend not too long ago, I carried around razors just in case I needed to do it and I had pulled them out. He was sitting in my car beside of me, but he couldn’t see what I was doing. I started to cut and cut through my wrists. The blood was flowing out, and it made me feel so much better. But it also scared me because I had cut deeper than before. He walked around the car to see what I was doing and found that I had blood dripping off my hands. He helped me wipe the blood up. It really scared him that I had done that, he knew that I was a cutter but he didn’t know how bad it was until that day. I promised him from that day on that I wouldn’t do it again. But I broke that promise. I can’t stop it, it’s an addiction, like smoking. It’s really hard to stop. But one day I hope that I can stop cutting myself, and I hope to help others one day with the same problems that I have.