I haven’t had the worst life, not by a long shot. There are just a lot of things about my past that I can’t stand to think about. I have hurt myself for years and didn’t even realize what I had been doing it until my friend told me about her problem with cutting. I still didn’t think I had a problem, because I kept thinking “I only hit myself, I don’t cut”. Well, a short while ago, the hitting just wasn’t enough and I started to cut. Now I don’t just cut to stop the memories from becoming to much, I use it for present problems as well.
My name’s Virginia. I’m thirteen and I started getting involved with self-injury when I was eleven or twelve. It’s hard for me to remember dates and things like that, but I remember the first time I tried to cut myself. My grand-parents had bought me a microscope slash biology set for my birthday, and inside there was a scalpel, a knife and many different needles. I got angry one day, angry at every living thing, every bad memory, every tear spilt, every secret I’d ever kept. And I remembered a girl in 7th grade I had known a year back who had been sent to the hospital after the teacher had seen her cut her best friend’s name into her arm with a compas. We didn’t see her until about five months later.
I am 17 years old. I have been battling an eating disorder and have been cutting for four years. I never consider any of it to be out of control. Not until now. If I was asked to give up my eating disorder or the cutting, I would have to give up the eating disorder. I cut about every day. Not just at home, but at school or anywhere I feel the need. I am one of those popular, outstanding students and no one has any idea (except those I have talked to). People would never believe that the MVP soccer and volleyball player could ever do something so crazy.
My life ended on Febuary 11, 1999 when my mother passed away. Most descibe death as a painful new beginning but I only thought of it as an end. An end to a perfect life and a beginning to one that I did not want. Where tomorrow always had a chance of rain and the sunrise only brought more pain and confusion.
It had a been a year and I was consistantly crying inside. In my mind the pain was just as great as the day I found out she was dead. The overbearing feeling of hate weighed me down. I was always scared. I was so confused, my mind was constantly wandering off. I completely lost it when my father started dating this women named Karen.
I’m a 25 years old guy, a working professional, making good money, decently good looking, have a good girlfriend, a nice car and close set of friends. So I should be the last one to have thoughts about suicide, right?
Well, if you told me that, that’s what I would think too. But it’s a bit different when the person is yourself. Often I’ve thought about suicide and how easy it would be to just kill yourself and not to deal with all the problems in life.
It started when I was twelve in my first year of high school, I started to feel suicidal because I also had a little brother on the way, and my parents were so much different with me, they seemed to not care. I didn’t like the newfound pressures of high school, so I started to just scratch at my arms, then it got deeper the more upset I got. Then it became an addiction and I couldn’t stop it and it helped me, or so I thought. I kept it to myself, and then one night I got so upset, I carved into my wrists with a blunt penknife, and it took away the thoughts, all I felt was physical pain, and it felt good. The next day in food tech I had to show the cuts to my teacher because she said they need to be covered while we’re cooking. She asked how I did it and I said I fell and scuffed my wrists, she believed me. That was the first time I felt regret.