When I was ten, whenever I got depressed or was abused by my uncle, I used to scratch and abuse myself.
My uncle was mean. He used to lock me in my room all the time. He was severely on heroine and he stole my stuff, destroyed it, or hurt me mentally, physically, and emotionally. I lived with my grandma all my life (she died on December 16th, 2004) and she was on drugs then too. All she did (till the day she died (sorry, that sounds awful)) was defend him. I was a scared ten-year-old hiding behind things and jumping out my window and running away. To protect myself from him. I remember the two lifetime scars I have on my right leg (which are the worst wounds from my uncle I have ever had from him). When he did it (he kicked me with steeltoe boots) my grandma said “he didn’t mean it”. It bled for an hour everywhere. I even needed stitches. I was always trapped. Like in a cage. I grew up rarely seeing my mom and dad (they are divorced) and my little sister (who is now eight). So time went by me scratching, hurting, running away, getting yelled at and all kinds of stupid crap. When I went into the 6th grade, I found myself banging my head on lockers and with anything I could find. I did it partially for attentoin because I never got any anywhere else. I ended up trying to overdose on meds some time in 2001, and landed in the hospital in Dallas. In the hospital were cutters. In there I learned what they did and why they did it. So I tried it too. It seemed like a good plan and was working for me fine. One day about one week later, I went to school, and in the cafeteria, I was so fed up with everything and I got a knife and started cutting. In front of everyone. I didn’t care what people thought or what they saw. I was feeling good while doing it. It was my moment of glory and pride. My friend tried to stop me but I didn’t stop. I got suspended and sent right back to the hospital. After that was a little improvement for about half a year of course I still cut and I was mistreated. Then I started acting up at school and got sent to a behavioral center called CBC. All that time my mom was hardly seen by me, we never had a good relationship and still don’t really. I’ve now been sent to the hospital about fifteen times for the same crap and I feel like I can’t stop. But I never give up hope. I think part of my problem is not ever having a mother figure in my life until about july 2004 and even then (and now too, August 1st, 2005) we never hung out and spent time together. My mom had been living here on and off and while she was here, I never had a good relationship with her. My dad is currently an 18 wheeler driver so he’s always out of town. I now have a one year old sister that lives with my other grandparents. I still cut, yes, but I never give up hope. (And now as of October 20th, 2005, still no decent mom.)