Right now, I’m thinking, what am I doing? Why am I writing a story about myself to share with others? I guess the best answer would be because I feel guilty. Ever since I told my friends I cut myself 2 years ago, a lot of people I know have been doing it. And I care, and feel guilty.
I guess my depression really started when I was in seventh grade, my sixth grade year had been really upsetting, and I had only like one friend. I’ve always been fat. I am still fat. I hate myself because I am fat. The first time I cut was because I wanted to die. I didn’t want to live anymore. It’s weird, I can’t remember what made me feel that way, but I went into the bathroom, took 20 aspirin and found the head of a scalpel. I cut my leg and my arm 8 times. From that day on I was dead.
I have been cutting myself for about 3 years now and I don’t know if I want to stop, I want to be myself, and myself is cutting. I don’t want the scars anymore. I’m sick of wearing long sleeves and long pants. I am always nervous in gym, my disgusting scars show. I would love to get any advice or your stories. Please help. Please care. I need someone to love me, because I hate myself…