Copyright, Sweetest Suicide
I can’t remember exactly why I did it the first time, but I know the second I got blood shed I was addicted. I started in fifth grade; you’re thinking ‘what in the world does a fifth grader have to make her so sad to hurt herself?’. Well, I have been made fun of my whole life and I have always seemed to lose the only things that matter to me.
I cut until partway through seventh grade, I only stopped because I know people were starting to get suspicious of my always long shirts and sweatshirts. Then somewhere in the beginning of eighth grade I did it again, this time I told someone — I will call her Kay. Telling her is one of my biggest regrets, why? Because, I introduced her to it. And now she’s worse than me.
Since eighth grade I have been cutting at least once a month, but telling everyone but a few that I haven’t. Because, December of ninth grade my parents found out, they saw fresh cuts going up my left forearm and immediately put me into counselling and psychiatry.
I have tried for death many times, always failing — I suppose this would be a good thing in most people’s eyes but I am still hurting as bad as I was in the beginning and I am more than halfway through sophomore year.