Copyright, Mangled Barbie
If anyone asked me what age I started cutting at I suppose I’d say I was 11 but I guess I started hurting myself when I was about 8, 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 9 years at the moment I weigh 4 stone, I’ve tried to kill myself 6 times in the past year, I just wish that I could succeed. I guess I’m scared to in a way because then everyone will know how I feel I’ve kept it hidden for so long that I think at this point I’m dead inside even if I haven’t managed to kill my body. I have a tattoo on my thigh it symbolizes my death, I knew I was never going to be happy again I just felt empty and dead inside and I wanted something besides a scar to remind me that at least it couldn’t get any worse… it got better actually for a little while I didn’t cut for two months…. Then it all got worse again.
I can still remember the first time I cut myself I still see the scars every time I look at my left leg though they have long since faded, they look back at me red raw screaming at me never letting me forget why I did it no matter how many times I’ve covered them with new scars they always shine through… I think I like it that way; I like my scars maybe that sounds sick but I can’t help it, they remind of who I am the places I’ve been and all the things I survived, every scar is there because I put it there. Every one symbolizes something different, there is one section on my right thigh I have never tried to cover, I don’t want to forget, I had a miscarriage I had a baby inside of me a new life. I know it’s selfish but I thought it would make it better my life would change once I had someone to love and someone who loved me unconditionally, I lost my baby I was all alone in my sittingroom on Friday night after that it all came flooding back, the stuff I had tried to forget, my rape, my dad trying to kill himself then telling me it was my fault that he never wanted me that I ruined everything, taking a thousand beatings to protect my mom from her druggie boyfriend, the boy I was in love with telling me he didn’t love.
I can’t talk to people about cutting, some people know but I can’t talk to them about it, people don’t understand they all seem to think it’s their fault that by them telling me that they’re sorry I feel this way that it will make it all go away. Nothing will make it go away this is who I am. I don’t want to be like this but people telling me that I’m sick don’t help. I’m ashamed of what I do and this just makes me feel worse, I’ve hurt a lot of people in my life, I’ve isolated myself from people who just wanted to be my friends not because I didn’t want friends but because I don’t want to drag people into my life, I don’t want for them to have to deal with my problems, because I know how it feels to want to make someone’s problems go away but not being able to, that’s why he didn’t love me because I couldn’t make his problems go away how could I when I don’t even know how to make my own go away. I think I just need someone who will love me, scars and all. I just need someone to hold my hand while I try to die.