Copyright Ali

I don’t understand why I am this way. I cut and I feel better but I feel the same way the next day. About to turn seventeen and still doing it but not on my arms where anybody can see, hidden on my legs never showing them to anybody. Only wearing things long enough to hide what I have done. I feel so ashamed at the same time but I don’t know how to deal. Had to deal with two deaths in the last year. One was someone I was dating and the other was my pet. Then, having been cheated on made me feel like why am I still alive? I have tried suicide but I have never acutally gotten that deep or taken enough pills. But being egged on by people who don’t understand and just criticise and say things just so they can make you feel worse. Being with one you love a lot and I am but I can’t talk to her and it’s killin me inside and I don’t know what to do because if I did try and commit suicide again then I would hurt a lot of people but being in this place that seems like hell is so hard…

Self Mutilation

Copyright, Ali

Self mutilation is something many of us will never have to face, but for some it is an everyday battle, struggling to break free from the continuous circle that holds them in bondage. What once started off as a cry for help, soon developed into an addiction.

Sitting at the edge of her bed, she holds her stomach tight and leans over her weary body to gasp for breath. Tears flooding down her face, she is in hysterics. Why had she been chosen to live this life of suffering and disappointment? Was it never going to end? Just as one dagger is pulled out, another is fired into her heart. It is too much. Slowly, she picks her self up and wipes her face, she heads down stairs. Suicide follows her every move, whispering in her ear “It’s never going to end, you have been destined to live a life of fear and torment, there’s no way out.”

Searching for the sharpest blade, she finally finds the victor, a small 4 inch kitchen knife, gift wrapped for her, ready for collection. She stands for some while, thinking hollow thoughts, staring into what could have been her future. It is quiet, the peacefulness is broken by the silence and slowly, oh so slow, she drags the blade across her wrist. Nothing. Something inside of her, deep within her heart of hearts must have wanted her to live. Something inside her subconscious, knew she deserved better than this. Tears still flowing down her blotchy face, she turned her arm over and dragged the knife across, a little deeper this time. Suddenly, a flow of blood emerged from the sliced skin. It felt so good. It felt so good watching the blood run out of the cut and drip onto the floor.

She was instantly brought into a state of ecstasy, where the vale of hurt was removed. Everything was white and void and had no meaning, only pleasure and release was here. The blood ran slowly. By the time it dripped, the blood was cold and it felt like paradise.

No amount of counselling or ‘talking’ could give the relief this did for her. No amount of crying could free The Tormenter inside like this did. Searching for a fresh piece of skin to cut that hadn’t already been soaked in blood, didn’t prove difficult. She drags the knife through the 4 month previously scarred skin. Immediately the skin splits and blood bursts through. She cocks her head to one side and smiles like an innocent child. She made a game of it, what stream of blood would drip onto the floor first?

Then, reality checks in, the adrenalin stops and she is taken out of her state of ecstasy. The vale of hurt is replaced by a cloak of heaviness and the pain starts over again.

The game ends and the pain begins, she washes clean the blood off her arm and floor, before replacing the knife back in its discovered position.

Crawling up stairs into her bed she rests her tiered, shaken body.

Never has she felt so alone.

I Hope

Copyright, Ali

I hope you receive ten fold, the hurt you caused me,
I hope you earn back the tears you made me cry.

I hope you feel the unbearable tearing sensation within,
I hope it still haunts you when you lie in your coffin.

I hope you cry so much, you want to vomit.
I hope you cry so much, your body goes into uncontrollable spasms,
Then you’ll know the smallest detail as to how you made me feel.

I hope you hurt so much, you rock back and forth on your bathroom floor,
I hope you hurt so badly, you want to cut your self, to release the pain within.
I hope you cry so much, your eyes burn like acid.

I hope you forever remember the feeling of cold blood, slowly dripping off your arm.
I hope you hurt so much, your head aches like to worldly description.
I hope you’re in so much pain, that when your body sweats and your heart pounds, you remember what you did to me.

I hope that when the lights go off and the day draws to and end,
Insomnia is your only friend!


Copyright, Ali, author’s homepage.

I’m Ali. Im 13. I’ve been self harming for as long I can remember. Throwing myself against things trying to bleed. Grating the cheese so I could just grate my finger. Cutting the meat so my blood would flow. Crying myself to sleep. Dreading the next day. Hoping I don’t get cought online at 4 am. I can’t ever sleep. I get less sleep than you can imagine. A lot of people don’t believe I only get about 2 hours of sleep. A week. But it’s true.

My dad, my first dad used to cut me. Told me to get out pain that way. That blood and more pain made me feel better. He also sexually abused me.

My second dad did the same shit. He knew it was wrong and he stopped almost immediately.

By then I was already doing the cutting myself. About 6 months ago my doctor saw my legs. I usally cut there. My mom and dad saw too. I promised I would stop. But I didn’t. about 4 days ago they found me locked in their bedroom. They made me show them my bleeding legs. My mom cried. She said that she didn’t know what to do. Again I promised I would stop. I haven’t. I cut my chest. My stomach. My feet. My thighs. My wrists. My shoulders. Whereever I can, I cut. I also love to OD, and so much more.

My mom thinks I just want attention. But in reality I don’t. It’s not a cry for help. It helps me already. It clears my mind and the blood makes me feel better. Seeing my blood empties my head. I feel a slight stinging pain type ting until I pull the sharp object away from my skin.

I cut with glass, knives, forks, my finger nails, cans, paper, I bite. I hit myself. I punch walls. I throw myself against my metal bed. I’ll do anything to be in pain.


“Don’t jump off the bridge. Wait until you fall. But what if you’re being pushed?” — Me


Copyright, Ali, author’s homepage.

Laying on my metal day bed. Staring at the ceiling. Listening to the screams and cries and laughs from the other room. Clenching fists at every happy sound. Grinding teeth at every “I love you” said. Thoughts of suicide, of dying, of torture, of pain, in my mind.

I sit up and reach down behind my dresser. An X-acto knife now in my hand. Self harm gives it’s advantages when ready to die. I take the knife and slide it across my leg. Cut, adrenalin-rush. I wait and wait and wait and wait. Finally after what seems like hours blood drips onto my sheets. Red as a newly bloomed rose. Next I cut my finger and again wait to bleed. As soon as the blood seeps out of my finger, I can taste it without putting my finger to my mouth. Not only can I feel the pain. But I can taste it too.

I’m sick of cutting. Burning. Slamming my head against the wall. Slowly I start the walk to the kitchen. I take a glass and pour some water. Then I take the sharpest knife and the glass back to my room.

I drop the glass on the floor as soon as my door hits the wall pane. I take the knife and myself back to my bed. Where I’ve already dripped dark red blood.

The knife I hold decides my future. I hold the knife to my pale wrist and there I slice. Over and over again. When I finally bleed. I take it and slice the other wrist. Clenching in my pain.

Until I can no longer grip my fists I scream. Footsteps down the hall. 9-1-1 dialed. My life turned into a story. My wrists wrapped in gauze. My mother in tears. My father in isolation. My brother in fear. My sister in worry. My suicide.


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