If anyone asked me what age I started cutting at I suppose I’d say I was eleven but I guess I started hurting myself when I was about eight, I’d go days without eating not because I thought I was fat but because I didn’t deserve to eat, I never felt fat I still don’t I just want something to be able to change the way I am I want to be somebody else, somebody perfect. I guess it was just another way of hurting myself. I’ve done a lot of things to my body that make people sick, I’ve cut, I’ve burned, I’ve been ana on and off for nine years at the moment I weigh four stone, I’ve tried to kill myself six times in the past year, I just wish that I could succeed.
There was some sort of program at our school that day. I remember waking up and planning my fate on the way to school. The sky was an awful shade of gray, telling me it could feel my pain. It didn’t matter whether the sky could talk to me, I was alone and considered myself crazy.
Once at school, I saw everyone filing into the audatorium. The rebellious attitude I had then I thought “screw em” and wandered off to the bathroom, where I spent many first periods. Locked myself in a stall, and started working on my arm. I had brought a bottle of aspirin and 90 seroquel. I told myself if Krista (a counselor/teacher) couldn’t help me today, then I would end it. I thought I deserved at least one chance.
My wrist twitched and I race to the bathroom… I gotta find something sharp. My eyes tingle “not gonna cry, not gonna cry” I thought to myself sliding my back down the bathroom stall door. I can’t do this anymore; I can’t go on like this.
Mrs. Skibs really pissed me off this time. She failed me without even giving me any chance of getting help. How could she do that? My mom’s gonna kill me. Literally. I reach in my pocket and pull out a pin; “thank god” I lightly scratch over my wrist several times forcing it semi-deep. I tightly shut my eyes and let the tingle relax me. I take a few deep breaths and start another cut along my skin, “good thing I wore my sweatshirt today” I say to myself as I look down at my dirty hoodie. “Oh yeah I forgot, I always wear this thing” I laugh to myself quietly. “Seems like the only person who I can laugh at these days is myself.” I get back to class walking down the hall, glancing back at his classroom. He looks at me disappointed; he knows what I just did. I pull down my left sleeve and he mouths “I love you” as I continue to walk down the hallway light headed.
I first began hurting myself at around 6 or 7, maybe earlier, everything before then is virtually gone from memory. I never really thought about it then, not as intentional. I called myself a “klutz”, I “bumped into” things and “fell” all the time, but the truth was that I wanted it to happen, so I made it happen.
It wasn’t till the age of 13 that I started using sharp objects to carve on myself. X-actos were one, but most commonly it was needles or safety pins, sometimes those little buttons you wear on jackets and stuff. For a while, in high school, I even wore safety pins stuck in my ears. I stopped for 2 years after graduating from school. I don’t remember how or why. I was in a limbo for those 2 years, emotionally nowhere.
My story starts out the same as every other one. Well, some of them. My brother used to rape me, and molest me, and beat me, from the time I was nine, until I turned twelve. Well, one time, I remember this well because it was my first time, well one time, I was so ashamed, and I couldn’t ever tell anyone, because my brother was the ‘good boy’ and I was just one of the girls, I was so ashamed and embarassed that I went into my bathroom directly after he raped me, with a pair of scisors. It was a day in late January, and I wore a sweater for the next four days to hide the cuts and scabs underneath.
I was young when I started selfharming. I can’t remember exactly how old but I would jump off the porch railings into the bushes. I would lie in the middle of the road waiting to get run over. But I lived on a street where “rush hour” meant maybe 2 cars at 5 p.m.
I had this big rock which was full of mica, that shiny stuff. We had taken it from the neighbor’s yard where they had 2 sitting under their outside water faucet. It was hidden under my bed. Sometimes, we’d take it out and lie on the cold wood floor with it and hold it up in our hand. It was bigger than our hand and sparkly. We would let it drop from up as high as we dared onto our other arm. Sometimes, days later, we could still find sparklies in our skin from where it landed.
It all started in 8th grade (a year ago). I was going out with someone I really liked for so long and maybe even loved. I was starting to feel depressed and even wanted to hurt myself. Then my boyfriend broke up with me and that triggered everything. I fell into this world that even now I can’t escape from, even though now I see a therapist and take Zoloft the sadness remains but feel I’m getting better. I had even gone three and a half weeks without cutting or drinking which made me so happy, but one morning last week I woke up to find cuts on my arm, I had done it in my sleep without even knowing I was doing it. I told one of my therapists that I had done that and she said it was OK because I have only done it once and probably wouldn’t do it again.