I have been cutting myself for eight years and I finally stopped for a while. But every day I feel as though it gnaws at my consciousness, my soul and my heart. It hurts sometimes more than I can take. I grab my ears to block out the noise of my incessantly working brain. I have been dying lately to cut, to feel a razor lightly tear my skin and see the blood, the life, slowly leak away from me. This is the first time that I truly see how different I am, how different we all are. Others couldn’t possibly understand our love of the pain, the sweet release from this world. I tried to stop cutting eight months ago but sometimes it’s just too hard and I give in.
I’m fourteen year’s old, I’ve been cutting since I was seven just two years after my mother and father passed away from smallpox. I had nowhere to go. I was five and I couldn’t live on my own, so I turned to the one person I hate most in life… My uncle. Recently his wife had died and he tended to be very sad for days… Then it began. He just couldn’t stop! Oh and how I hate him and wish so bad he would hurry up and die! But no, he’d just get drunker and drunker… He hit me, called me names like “worthless piece of crap, stupid kid.” He’d glare at me so intently that when I looked at him his eyes seemed to silently scream at me “I want to kill you!” When he came home he would reek of death and booze… And day after day he’d hit me, child abuse, as you would call it.
I’m fed up with the world. I have no privacy and I hate it. I have friends who stab me in the back and I hate it. I live in an abusive home and I hate it. I just got back from being runaway for a week. The guidance counsellor at my school gave me heck for it and it just really pissed me off. I’m a cutter. I have been since October 7th 2001. I’ve had breaks where I’ve stopped, but it just all creeps back, and the pain never seems to go away.
My name is Tori, and I’m 13. I’ve been cutting for about 2 years. Here is my story.
It all started one day, when I was feeling worse than normal. I just wanted to die. I was in my house, alone, crying. And, I picked up a knife, or something that was sharp (I can’t even remember what), and started to cut my wrists. I didn’t even know why. And the scariest part was that it helped.
I have been a SI member from the age of thirteen. I say member because there are many of us out there who do it, and at first believe we are alone. With research and available info such as this I find I am not alone. I am not a freak. I am a person, a person with a problem. I am a 27 year old woman, and can recall the first time my mother frowned at me at my innocent expression of anger, confusion, sadness. I ran to her when my uncle molested me. I wanted to feel safe again, I wanted her to hold me. She gave me a quick hug, a pat on the hand and said “Honey, just forget that ever happened” and continued with an “and think twice before you tell your father.”
Okay, I’m fifteen years old and I will be sixteen on May 23rd of this year. I have been cutting for quite some time now (like six years). Most people think I’m crazy and stuff like that, but they don’t know what it is like being me. All this started when I was young, real young. My familymembers on my mother’s side used to lock me in the attic with my little brother and leave us there for anywhere from four to six hours. Then I went to live with my father who was doing drugs and could be abusive at times. I was about six when I first moved in and then he married a lady with two older children who bossed my brother and I around… A lot.