This story is a little graphic, if this might upset you, please don’t read.
I’m a good girl, nothing bad will ever happen to me. Mommy and daddy love me, they won’t let anyone ever hurt me, in any way.
This is the sentence that ran through my mind as I was watching the news
with my mother on sunday mornings. I was a very bullheaded child. I thought
because I was such a good little girl, nothing bad would ever happen to me,
that I would be forever protected because I did everything mommy and daddy
told me. I honestly didnt know how wrong I was. My mother and father began
to go out on friday nights. My sisters didn’t want to babysit, they were
teenagers and had lives. So my mom put an ad out for a babysitter. Wasn’t
long before Justine showed up at our door. She was from England. She was
very pretty. Long brown hair, brown eyes, tanish. She was about sixteen or
seventeen. I grew to like her right away, she was very kind and funny.
Called me her little peanut, because I was very small. One night she asked
if I wanted to play a new game, seeing how fun she was, I agreed. It was
called ‘boy and girl’ I was the girl, and she was the boy. In the game, we
were married. And she said ‘let’s make a baby’ I asked how. She took off
mine and her clothes, and began to touch me. At first I didn’t know what
was going on, or what she was doing. She would make me do things that at the
time, I didn’t know was so wrong. After about six months, my sister was
asked to baby sit because Justine was sick. That night I tried to play
‘boy and girl’ with her. When I got naked, and attemped to touch her, she
screamed and began yelling ‘Who the fuck taught you that? What the fuck are
you thinking?’ I began crying and saying it’s a game, it’s fine, me and
Justine do it all the time. With this, a phone call to mother was made, and
all hell had broken lose. To shorten the srory, I was put in a psych ward,
Justine went to one as well, followed by jail time. I was eight when this
happened. Now I am sixteen. After I had realised what had happened to me, I
felt like I was the smallest thing in the world. My grades went down, I
gained over fifty pounds, I didn’t trust anyone. My life was runied. One
night, I was depressed, and took a small safety pin to my leg. The little
cut was very painful. But, I had noticed I was more focussed on the little
pain, then the fact I had been molested. It pretty much took off from there.
Now I’m up to a steak knife, and getting worse and worse as time goes on. I
haven’t cut in two weeks which is a good thing. But, now I have an eating
disorder. That’s being taken care of, but it’s getting bad as well. My
parents and me don’t get along the same way anymore. All we do is fight.
But, life did have it’s upsides. I’m now engaged to the man of my dreams,
who went through the same problems as me. He was also molested and cut
himself, but he stopped three years ago. I wish I was as strong as him
sometimes. Well, this is my story behind the scars. Thank you for reading,
if you want to contact me, my user name on Psyke is
my AIM is
My Life, My Story
I’m fourteen now, I started cutting myself when I was twelve, in the seventh grade. My stepdad was an alcoholic, and and when he was drunk he was very violent. We fought all the time, and I remember him saying things like “you’re just a piece of shit, just like your dad” and “I don’t give a shit about you”. He never hit me, he threatened to, he pushed me and threw me across the room, he twisted my arm to the point where I thought it was going to break, but he never hit me. My mom didn’t believe me, she just said I was making it up, trying to ruin her marriage.
I remember one day on the bus I’d just gotten in another fight with him and my friend Kayla saw how upset I was and said “Here, this will make you feel better”. She pulled a bottle opener out of her pocket and made a deep cut in my upper arm, and it felt so good. I have been cutting since, although I have tried to quit a few times. I tried hiding it at first, but got tired of all the lies and eventually when people asked me what happened to my arm I just told them “I did it myself”. I was still addicted to alcohol (which I just recently quit, with a lot of effort), pain killers (which I also recently quit), and marijuana (which I am trying to quit, and it’s proving harder than I thought). I have put up with people who have learned of my SI and gave me a reaction like “You cut yourself? God, you’re stupid. Why would you hurt yourself, that’s so dumb” or “Oh my god, you cut? You’re such an attention whore, go get a life you emo prick”. Or my favorite, from some chick in my algebra class:
“OMG you’re bleeding!”
“Oh, it’s nothing, just a scab must have came off.”
“OMG you did that yourself, what’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing, just leave me alone.”
“You know, that’s called self-mutilation, you’re gonna get expelled for that.”
By the way, you actually can be expelled for this so-called “self-mutilation” in California. Which is, in my opinion, pretty messed up indeed.
Just this summer my aunt and her ex came to live with us. They were both twenty, and still friends. I became very close to them, they were my best friends. I often stayed up all night to hang out with them, in those months I hardly got any sleep at all, except for when I was in class, so I was wired on caffeine 24/7. My aunt, who I’ll call Z, always went to bed earlier than her ex, who I’ll call X. One time in November, Z had already gone to bed, and X and I were just sitting in the computer room talking. We were bored, and it was 6 in the morning. We sat there for a long time not saying anything, but I could see him staring at my chest. All of a sudden we just started making out, and from that point on we had our little relationship. We didn’t tell anyone, although I did tell a few of my closest friends. It was the first relationship I’d ever had, and it was the happiest time of my life.
Two weeks before Christmas X and my stepdad got in a huge fight because X hadn’t gotten a job yet, even though he was doing a lot of the work around the house that my stepdad couldn’t do because of his back. X had his knife in his pocket, and was just holding it, trying to calm himself down, and when he shrugged off his jacket he still had it in his hand, and my stepdad claimed X tried to stab him. It was my fault they got in the fight, I was the one who told Z and X that my stepdad had been complaining about them not having jobs. The next morning Z and X moved out. My mom wanted everyone out of the house when Z and X packed their things, so she sent my stepdad, my little brother and I out Christmas shopping. My stepdad said he was going to pick up a friend of his and take her shopping with us. I had a hunting knife in my pocket, I was still upset, we were in the middle of the mall and I still couldn’t stop crying. I spent most of the day sitting outside by myself slicing deep gashes in my arm and smoking the only cigarette I had. (I don’t normally smoke cigs, I hate them, I only smoke them when I’m really upset and can’t get my hands on a drink or some mj.) I had a hunch that my step’s friend was actually his girlfriend (he and my mom had already told me they were getting a divorce, and X had told me that the reason for this was because my mom had just discovered she was a lesbian), they just acted closer than regular friends. Her name was Amanda, and she had a two year old daughter named Alaura. We got home and I couldn’t figure out why we hadn’t dropped her off yet. I figured it was because she did live three hours away and it was getting late, she’d probably go home in the morning. My mom and her friend (who X had also told me was her girlfriend) were there. I heard my little brother who I’ll call B ran up to me and said “Guess what! Amanda’s gonna be living with us!”
For the next week I just laid in my room crying, cutting, and getting fucked up on anything I could. I kept the black light on and listened to NIN. I only left my room to go to the bathroom and school. I barely remember anything of that week, it was all a blur, and I would fall asleep for a few hours, wake up for a few hours, in an endless cycle. I could barely even drink water without throwing up, let alone eat. I spent pretty much the whole week dissociated not having any idea where I was or what I was doing. I only made it through classes because I had such good friends. It was a Saturday when my step came and started yelling at me that I was over-reacting and making Amanda do all the work in the house because I was too lazy feeling sorry for myself in my room. At that point it felt like something snapped and I couldn’t take it any more, I was sick of the fighting, and I told him “shut up”, something I’d never in my life been brave enough to do. Then I ran out the door.
I came back an hour later and my step had locked me out of the house, so I just kept wandering aimlessly around the neighborhood. About two hours later I came home and the cops were there. While I was gone my step had gone in the other room and picked a fight with my mom instead, and when he pushed her she called the cops on him. He claimed that she had pushed him too and since there were no marks or witnesses they both spent the night in jail while B and I spent the night at the station talking to social workers. They let us go home and stay with Amanda at about 1 A.M. I spent the next week with my grandma, and on Christmas I stayed with my mom’s friends. We usually all went to my step’s family for Christmas, but that year he took B, Amanda and Alaura.
That night I got on the plane to go visit my dad. When I got to the airport he saw that I’d been crying and asked what was wrong, I told him everything that had happened (except about X and I, and my SI and substance abuse), and all he did was laugh and say that if he had known it was OK to move a girlfriend into the house while you were married he would have done it years ago.
My mom put me in therapy because she found out about my SI. My therapist is horrible. The first time I went in there my mom and step were there next to me and I was really uncomfortable about them being there, so I didn’t say anything but yes and no, and I spent the whole time staring at my feet. And it didn’t help when my mom was so worried about her image that when the therapist asked if anyone in the family was a drug addict or alcoholic she immediately said no. Half the peope in my family are drug addicts, and even though my step’s quit drinking now, and is nicer than ever, we’ve gotten really close since he sobered up, she knows that his alcoholism has had a major effect on my life. And at the end of the session my therapist spent ten minutes telling me what a horrible child I was and that dealing with me was the most miserable hour of his day. All I did was sit quietly with my mouth shut nodding my head every once in a while, scared sick, with my parents in the room, and he was getting paid to sit there and ask me stupid questions.
Just a few months ago she found out about X and I, because I had posted about it in a forum online for peer advice. She promised not to tell anyone except her girlfriend, but now she hates X. Which is a problem because Z and X are planning on moving back in sometime before this Christmas, after we move. My mom has a big mouth, especially when she’s mad at someone, and she hates X so much that she won’t be in the same room with him, so I just know that when they come back she’ll spill it all. Z has even told me before that she still loved X, even after they broke up. and I’ve felt so guilty about it. I know I won’t be able to live with myself after she finds out about us. And X told me not to tell anyone. I still can’t think about him too much, because I get dissociated and end up cutting my arms again. Thirty-two of the scars on my arm are from when I was thinking about him and what happened.
Well this is my story, and I’m sorry it’s so long, probably too long. Thank you for taking the time to read it.