I have been cutting myself since I was 9. I really don’t know exactly why I do, because I read these stories and mine shrivels in comparison, but I guess it was to kill myself and end my life there. I always seemed very happy with my friends and family. But my parents would always fight and my brother got arrested four times and put us through a lot of grief. My friend Caroline died when I was 10. She was only 8 and it was exactly one month until her ninth birthday. She was killed by a drunken teenager in a car. I was very angry at the world since then, and missed her very much. I had known her and we had been friends since she was born, which was about 9 years. Her death came sudden and tragic and I had a nervous breakdown at the funeral. Anyway, that was not as inflicting apon me at first, but I knew that it hurt me more than just about anyone on the inside. I started to have very low self-esteem and I thought I was fat. I still do. I longed for friends very badly since then. My friends at the age of 10 I felt were using me, lying to me, and being friends with me for the wrong reasons. But they were the only people I had to hang out with and I didn’t want to risk being a loner. Even though I was 10, reputations did count a lot for me. So I let them walk all over me all the time. I blinded myself to the fact they weren’t my friends and pretended to be happy for myself while I would go home, take a knife or needle, and slit or scrape myself everyday. I wanted to be able to fool everybody, so I would cut myself where nobody could see even if I didn’t wear long sleeves my stomach, upper thighs, etc. It wasn’t a lot of cutting because I still had the one best friend and influence in my life, my Nana. She was the best person I knew and probably will ever know. I thought she was going to live for a long time to see me grow up and support me through every second of it. I was already seeing a psychiatrist at that age but Nana was my real inspiration to get through the day. I would still cut myself though. It was the most horrifying day of my life when my parents told me that Nana died in a hospital and I still remember the last time I saw her and the last words she said to me: “I’ll see you later.” I will be waiting for later as long as I live. I was 11 and that was when the cutting got out of control. It never really was in control. I was brusing myself, slitting myself, and scraping myself every chance that I got when nobody was looking. When my mother and I were fighting, I would have nervous breakdowns. I would start crying hysterically in my room for no reason. I was in far too deep. I went to a new school and got new friends who weren’t as bad as the ones before. I guess I have a long way to go, but I have made progress in stopping. Thank you for your time.