My name is Katelyn and I have been cutting myself since I was twelve, in 7th grade. I am in 12th grade now, about to graduate and still don’t know why I cut myself. I suppose it all started when my father moved out when I was eight. It’s tough to like yourself when you feel like your own father hates you. I was mainly brought up by him, my mom having to work nights to support the house seeing as my father was an alcoholic. I often would watch my father pound down a thirty pack or more of beer and some harder stuff in about the time of one hockey game. I assumed that this was all alright, but began taking care of myself when I was five or so. I would put myself to bed, wake myself up, basically becoming my own parent. My father was an abusive drunk, beating my mom when she would tell him to stop drinking. I ‘blocked’ this out, watching television and sucking my thumb as if nothing else in the world existed. When he left my life took a horrible turn. It wasn’t until years later that the pain came spitting out of my body in the form of angry friction burns I achieved by rubbing a pen cap on my arm until the area was raw, damp, sticky, and so painful I thought I would black out, but it helped me. I turned to cutting myself whenever I felt overwhelmed, even if it was being too happy, I would cut. Cutting became addicting. I always wanted it, always thought about it, and generally did it at least twice a day for two years. I realised I needed help and got into therapy, my mom still had no clue, she thought I was finally ready to talk about the divorce. My cutting slowed, even stopped for periods of time, but I still do it. I am getting ready to go to college and the stress has brought cutting back to the forefront of my life, giving me the energy and boost I need when I am so low I want to turn the stove on and just put my arm into the flames. Someday I hope to stop, but right now I am not ready I don’t think, I’m even a little scared to. I hope to help someone someday though, once I have helped myself.