My name is Keri. I’m a cutter. People think it’s a humongous deal. They think I’m crazy. Or a sadist. And that I’m suicidal. That’s not true. I am a Christian. I think I’m of right mind even though people think I’m high all the time. And I’m not suicidal. Well maybe I am a little bit but I would never go through with it. And I cut to stop the thoughts of suicide. Actually, I cut for many reasons, one of them is to avoid suicide. Another is to stop all emotion and go completely numb. Not worrying about a thing. It’s like I remember but it’s OK now. I don’t feel. The last reason is I feel like I have to. If I don’t I will explode.
I used to eat to get rid of my problems it was great because I never gained an ounce so I would eat nonstop always on the search for some kind of food. God, I actually got hungry with the problems. People usually lose their appetite when something extreme happens. No I’m in the fridge eating it all out. Then I would run I mean any time to clear my head. One of the reasons why I didn’t gain anything. I would eat and eat and eat then go on a three hour run not stopping. I would run at night in the morning and afternoon. I would run any time any weather it didn’t matter to me. But my parents wouldn’t let me run for a while and I was flipping out with the thought I couldn’t get out of my head so I just went back to eating. And eating is how I started cutting.
Well my parent’s worst nightmare started when I was thirteen. In March when I started cutting I started by accident. I slipped cutting something with a knife and I cut my wrist. At first I was like ‘ow, that really hurt’. But then I just felt nothing. I was OK, everything like mellowed out for me. It was like I went for a five hour run in three seconds. And it felt good. I had time to do stuff plus my appetite subsided. I was free. I started to cut a little at first. When I just started I didn’t start like normal people. I would use something dull. I would sit there stroking and stroking my arm. It would be bright red and just a little blood would come through. Then I started to go deeper and deeper. Till one day I hit a bone. It hurt like hell. I didn’t go to the hospital I just bandaged it up and hoped the skin would go back in place. I was so freaking lucky it did. A little bit never did heal all the way my skin goes in on my wrist in one little line. My scar. I got so lucky with that one. So I stopped going so deep. But I still went pretty deep in many places.
I found out then I had a problem. I didn’t even realise it till my one friend finally spotted one of my cuts. She asked me how long I’d been doing it. I said six months. She was amazed I kept it from everyone for so long. And I still wore short leave shirts almost every day. I found a way to heal my cuts within a week if not in five days after I cut. It was easy. My parents had no clue till about a month ago my friend told them. I still have two razors hidden form them. They found all my other stuff and I still continue to buy my own Neosporin and leave the house one for them.
Some of my friend did cut, some have stopped, others still do. They tell me I should stop because I’m one of the worst out of all of us. I have been cutting for about a year and half. I can’t take situation at school. And use my pass to go to the bathroom and cut myself and bleed in the sink. To calm myself down. Then I go back to class all mellowed out and happy. And that is why every one thinks I get stoned. And I would never touch the stuff. But that’s how life goes.
Any way my life is still spinning out of control with my cutting. I can’t stop and people have given up on helping me. They just don’t care any more. Except my parents, they can’t take it. Yet they have no clue I’m suicidal. I think about it constantly. But never act on it. I wouldn’t have the guts. Some times I wish I had them but most of the time I thank God I don’t.
I have a theory on Suicide it’s a little out there but most people find it an interesting look on life. My theory is when our spirits were judged by God and we weren’t let in to heaven because we weren’t good enough. But we weren’t bad enough for hell. So he’s testing us on Earth. This a taste of Hell. There are loopholes. People have found ways to be happy. Depending on how bad we were we got put here for a sentence and if we end our sentence willingly by ourselves and not by God or someone else. That is why suicidal people go to Hell. We didn’t finish our sentence in Hell.