Alone and Scared

Copyright, Ana

It all started 3 years ago, when I was 14. I was sitting in the bath with candles burning. Being curious I picked up a bit of foil lying around, heated it in the flame until it turned black, and pressed it against my flesh. It was hot, and stung… But it felt good. It didn’t look like there was a mark on my arm, so I did it a few more times until I saw some result. It wasn’t till a while later, I realised what a mess I had made of my arms, but I still felt some sense of relief from my life.

From then on, as soon as life got tough, I would find a piece of metal, heat it up, and press it against my skin until it felt better. The more and more depressed I got, the more the need for something more to take the pain away. That’s when a few months after I started hurting myself, that I pulled a disposible razor apart and pulled it across my skin, the relief was great. From then on, as soon I got depressed that’s how I coped. But I had to start wearing long sleeved t-shirts to cover my wounds. But no one ever knew about my secret, so I kept on doing it.

Until one day, I came home from school to find my mum upset in my room, after she’d read my diary. I was gutted that I’d hurt my parents like this, but they didn’t understand why I’d done it. I promised I would stop, but it was the only way I knew of how to deal with life problems. So I carried on, the more I did it the more upset they got. They tried to take me to the doctors, but I wouldn’t go, and after loads of failed atempts to take me to see someone they gave up, as I stopped cutting my arms. I soon found out that I could cut the top of my arms, and they wouldn’t see. That worked until they found blood on my shirts.

I gave up cutting myself for a while, because I couldnt handle how much I was hurting everyone.

I thought I was better, I thought I was “normal”, until it all got tough again, but I didn’t want to hurt my parents again, so I would just make small marks on my arms that I could make excuses for, then I started making myself sick after meals, or when I was upset. I was punishing myself, and no one knew, it was my ideal solution, also I was getting thinner every day. I thought it was the best thing i’d ever started doing. People started telling me how thin I looked, and I loved every second of it. For once in my life, I felt wanted. So I carried on with it. My boyfriend got worried but I didn’t care. I was feeling better than ever. But we went our different way, so now I am sitting here alone, sitting in front of my computer, with scars for life, and an eating disoder, still with the constant need to punish myself, and fresh cuts. The scars I have, I have for life. But I live with them now, they are part of me and my life…


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