It was about five years ago I started to hurt myself in some way or another. I was in year 8 at the time and I thought everything was OK. Yes, I was overweight but I was happy. I never had much confidence and over the next few years it was hit down even more.
I used to hang with a group of people that were really nice. I loved the group I was in, I started to get new interests and likes e.g. boys etc.
One day I can remember that my best mate had a great big argument with a girl in one of the upper class rooms in my college and she went really down. She came running down the corridor and screamed to me ‘I want to die’. I did not know what to say to her. I was stood at my locker collecting the next lessons books. She pushed me out the way and took the pot of pills I had in there. I suffered from major head aches and blackouts that’s why they were there.
She took the pot. Thirty-four was in the pot. She was rushed to hospital and lived. After that I blamed myself. I went home that night scratched my arms and wrist up with a safety pin. Don’t sound that bad but it was. Over the next year this so-called friend did a lot more and I got worse with the self injury. I went on to scissors and then to metal etc. Anything sharp, really.
I hated myself. I turned gothic and dark and curled up into my box (bed room) whenever I was at home. I got into drugs and smoking and the self harm got worse. The girl that started all this off left the school and I just had to carry on as normal. How could I do that?
A year later my granddad died and I lost six stone in weight. I went from fourteen stone down to eight stone. I stopped eating and made myself sick if I did each. I could not go one day without taking a handful of pills to make me feel alive.
After that things got a little bit better. I found a guy that I thought was the best thing that could ever happen to me but I was wrong. A year later into the relationship he raped me and I became pregnant. When I found this out I threw myself down some stairs and took loads of pills to get rid of it. I was fourteen and I was so so scared. He hit me and beat me. I felt so useless and that it was my job to lay there and let him do what he wanted with me.
I had to be strong. a year after I got out the relationship and decided that I was not going to bother with men any more. The cutting was still really bad and pills weren’t much better.
It carried on till about a year later when I started to use razors to cut. I was too scared to try them before then because I know they can do a lot of damage and all I wanted to was bleed. I cut the top of my legs up, arms, wrists, tummy, sides, feet. Wherever I could. I pierced my lip, ears and belly to make it hurt but not leave scars like cutting does. I just felt like I had done something really wrong and should be punished.
I’m still cutting now and I so wish I had never started. It sounds strange but when I do it I feel so, so good but after looking at it or trying to hide it from my mum it is really hard.
I can give advice to people very easily about it but I’m just not good at taking my own advice.
Please feel free to e-mail me about anything or even if you need someone to talk to. I can listen and e-mail you back as much as you like.
Just please please try and stay safe. It’s a hard world out there and you need all the people that will be there for you as you can. I know what it feels like when you are alone.
Keep safe and thanks for reading.