Some mornings I wake up, and I wish I hadn’t, the stinging soreness of wounds and the knowledge that I’ve once again failed makes me wish I could cry. My name is Catherine and I’ve been a self-harmer since I was twelve. I’m now nineteen and attending my top choice university, and I still struggle daily with depression and self harm. Well, I guess I whould start at the beginning, but I don’t really know when this all started, it felt so natural to hurt myself and I always felt like a bad person, dirty even, I was sexually abused from the age of eleven to fourteen, but I never told anyone because it was so shameful to me. It started small, that much I remember, although I can’t pin a day or even a month on it, just scratches, a dull swiss army knife. For years that was enough. If i was sad or scared or worried I always had that control. I also used to punch and kick things when no one was around, having a bruised up hand or foot wasn’t uncommon when I was younger. Then I got to high school. If I’d been a misfit in public school I was just invisible now, I did my work, I kept my head down and I just kept walking, it didn’t matter what happened. I couldn’t look anyone in the eye, I was either too shy or just plain afraid that if they noticed me they’d know my dirty secret, they’d know how aweful I was. Eventually I kinda stopped hurting myself on purpose, I started playing really rough sports, entering tournaments and things where getting hurt was normal and by the end of the day I was so tired I just crashed. I made some friends that year, and that was my big mistake, I opened up and they betrayed me, I found solace in blood, each time I cut I cut more or deeper, I guess I’m lucky it was usually more. I still cut, although right now I’ve been clean for over a week. I know it won’t last, but right now it feels kinda good to just be able to say that.