I used to cut. And I think about doing it all the time. I started in the 8th grade, and it only took a few months for my whole life to come crashing down.
When I first started, I started on my wrist. It was easy to hide, and even if someone did see it, I just said ‘Oh, I just scratched myself’. Then my mom started asking these questions. I stoped. Until I tried it on my legs. I realised I bled more. I loved it.
I love to look at my scars, and I love when I bleed. I know, I’m not this deranged person. I don’t wear all black, and try to be all goth and stuff. I don’t like it when other people bleed. It’s just me.
I don’t know why I cut. After it all happened, people said I did it for attention. People spread all these rumors. They said my mom got me into cutting (not true), and all that stuff. But, I got it from a movie, and I tried it. Just once. It made me feel better. So I kept doing it. It’s not like I was killing myself. I’m OK, and I still think I am.
Well, in the 8th grade, I had some friends who I told… occasionally. They didn’t know untill a month after I started on my legs. I felt so bad, because when my friend Tara found it, she was on the verge of tears in the middle of class. I hardly knew her, and she was trying to get me stopped like I was her sister.
So I stopped. But only for like month. All of my friends were getting too proud. Then I had a relapse. And I needed to talk to someone. I told Darylin.
The next part of this story is peiced together: Darylin started crying, and three-wayed Tara, and Taylor. Then she made her brother call my school. The next day at school, I got called to the guidance counsellor. My life got so much worse.
My parents fell into this depression. My dad started drinking more and more. And my mom would stay out all night and come home drunk and high.
I had a huge fight. In middle, no one ever really took sides. They let people work it out. With this, every single person in my grade, had a side. I was never miss popular, but everyone knew who I was. Everyone had an opinon. I took refuge in my friends Michael and Chala. So it was myself, Chay, Michael, and half the 8th grade against Tara, Darylin, and Taylor.
Taylor was, and now is, my best friend. I love her to death. But she was making this hell for me. One day after school, I yelled at her that she ruined my life. She got on her bus, and I saw her crying.
Darylin, you have to love her, she loves her friends to effin death, and she was the first one to apologise. About after a week this happened, she came up to me at lunch and apologised. Just like that. Tara and Taylor were behind her, and she just looked down and said sorry. I forgave her. And Tara. But Taylor said she wouldn’t forgive me until I said I was wrong. That I admitted that she was right.
And I would not do that. I still will not. I do not feel at all that she was right.
I regret everything. Almost losing my friends.
If anyone wants to talk, don’t be afraid to e-mail me. I would love it.
Life was excellent until I was four and then it all started, the fights and the beatings and the constant lying to people at school about the constant bruises I had and where we lived no one butted their noses in on other people’s business so it kept on happening at the hands of my parents. When I was about seven we moved from Scotland to England because my dad’s from there, so we could be closer to his parents. The abuse was still happening and I moved schools and no one ever asked where I got the bruises. When I was nine we moved next door to my cousin Chris and my uncle Jez. One day in the summer when I’d just turned eleven, I was sat on the floor in the kitchen playing with something, my dad accidentally tripped over my foot and turned round picked me up off the floor and started giving me a real pasting across my whole body at this point my uncle Jez and my cousin Chris had heard me screaming and were standing just inside the back door. My uncle was twenty-seven and my cousin was thirteen. They just jumped on him and started beating the crap out of him. He instantly dropped me back to the floor where I was bleeding pretty badly and couldn’t see out of my left eye because of all the blood that was streaming into it. Then I saw my uncle throw my dad out of the house and lock the back door. They both turned their attention to me who by this time was crying on the floor. Uncle Jez picked me up and took me up to the bathroom to clean me up and get rid of all the blood streaming down my face. Chris got some TCP and put it in the bath and filled the bath up. They put me in the bath fully clothed so they didn’t have to get me undressed and it might look a little wrong. From that day my dad came back and got some clothes and left home for about eight months. In that time my mum got worse and blamed me for dad leaving. Then we started having full scale arguements about it and I couldn’t hack it anymore. One night I was sitting in my room crying non stop and the pain inside got too much and I grabbed my penknife that my uncle had given me and cut myself on my arm. It felt good to get the emotional pain out a physical way so that it didn’t eat me up inside. After that first cut every time I got upset I cut. The cuts weren’t bad at first but they gradually got deeper because I felt that I always had to beat the last cut. One day I was helping my uncle to put up some pictures and my sleeve came up my arms and he saw my cuts. He didn’t say anything but I knew he had seen them. I decided I had to tell him because the silence between us was unbearable so later on in the same week I went to his and sat down and told him through my tears. He was very, very understanding and told me that he had tried it too but it had made his mental state worse and that he had to get therapy for it. So I decided to get help and went to the doctors about it. I told them everything about my dad (who is a druggie), my mum, my childhood and all the drugs that I had tried and everything that had happened in my family (my grandma died when I was twelve). They made me tell my mum who was not best pleased and had a go at me for it which made matters worse and made me cut more. I started going to therapy and they did nothing but make it worse as they just dragged up the past and it hurt me so that made me cut everytime I came back from the stupid appointments. Soon after I started going I stopped going and it went back to normal and cut everyday because the smallest little things would upset me. My cousin noticed that I had got depressed and withdrawn and asked me to tell him what was going on so I did and he has been checking up on me for about four months. I had a relapse after about two months of not cutting and cut really, really bad and Chris had to take me to the hospital and they kept me in for two weeks. When I got out I stopped cutting and haven’t cut for one month, two weeks and three days so far so I’m on the slow road to recovery, Chris has been excellent and has introduced me to my new boyfriend Andy, he knows everything about the cutting and helps me a lot. I hope to never ever cut, ever again.
My name is Ruby. I am fifteen and I hate myself. I have been cutting for about eighteen months. I only stop when there is so much blood I am scaring myself. I use razors, compasses, nails, but mostly penknives, which I hide in my makeup bag. When my parents are out, I use kitchen knives. I am not like most cutters. I lead a completely charmed life. I am pretty and rich and have great friends and my parents would do anything for me. I have never been abused, bullied, anything. I just hate myself. I always will. Sometimes it is so much I feel like I can’t breathe, and if I cut everything is OK. I don’t always like the pain. Usually just the blood to see how I can punish myself. Have you ever seen the film ‘8 Mile’? You know at the end, where they are in the rap contest and he says all the stuff wrong with him so noone else can say it first? That’s what it makes me feel like, it doesnt matter what anyone says because I know how horrible I am and I can acknowledge it. I love seeing my wrist in a mess, I love to see blood everywhere. I am so scared. I am scared of everyone. Everyone expects me to be really confident, but I just got invited to a party where there will be sixty people there, and the thought of that has scared me so much, I am shaking so much I can hardly type. At night, I sometimes take about five painkillers so I don’t have to think. I don’t want to die. I have no idea why I am like this. I just hate myself so much it is unbearable because I can never escape from myself. In a way, the fact that my life is so perfect makes it worse because it’s just me that’s so messed up, I will always be this way. Sometimes random people ask for my number and I am so scared I just go red and shake my head and then later I have to cut myself because I am so lonely. Until last night, only my best friend knew. Then all my friends came over, I drank an insane amount of vodka and ended up telling them everything. And while I was lying unconscious, my friend had to clean and bandage my arm up. My friends were all so, so, so lovely to me about it, but now that we’re sober, I am so embarassed and one of my ‘friends’ refuses to talk to me at all. Bitch. She is so cruel. And my parents know too now, my mum is crying everywhere, my dad doesn’t know what to do. They won’t leave me alone in the house they are gonna check me every night, make me change schools and see a counselor. I tried to tell them, it won’t make a difference, it’s me. I’ll always be me. I have think up people in my head that I imagine I was. If I have to stop, I don’t know what will happen to me. I won’t be able to cope. And now I know I am hurting and shockimg people I feel even worse. My friend told me that when she was eight, her dad raped her. See, I could understand her doimg it, but me? I have no excuse. I am just a bitch. I hate myself I want to do it now, so much that I am shaking again, but I’ll try not to, so hard. At weekends I am always home on my own because I’m too scared to call my friends in case they hate me. I have so much anger and hate in me I get into violent rages and I scare myself so much. I need to cut. I love when it is so deep you can fit your fingertip inside, or when there is no skin left on my arm. It’s the greatest feeling ever. If I have to stop, I swear I don’t know what the fuck will happen to me. I am so scared of the world I am so emotional sometimes I’m so happy io just want to sing forever the next I am staring numbly at my reflection as I hack at my arm. I’m so sorry to ramble on like this. I’m so glad I found this website and I love you all you make me feel so much better. You are all beautiful.