Copyright, Anna

My name’s Anna and I come from Germany. I just want to tell you how I got into this SI’ing stuff. It’s not such a long story but maybe some of you will understand why I’m doing this and why I can’t stop with it.

It all happened when I got seven. Then my whole life changed. My dad was awful to me, he screamed at me, he hit me. Although he called me that I’m his “cute little thing” he just hurt me. At the age of seven I began SI. I didn’t cut myself, I scratched myself, I bit myself and all that stuff. I also wanted to kill myself four or five times. I just felt so worthless and I just wanted to die. I wanted to end everything. I didn’t want to be hurt anymore. I wanted to stop it but I didn’t. I still don’t understand why I didn’t.

I started cutting at eleven or twelve because everything got worse. He hit me every day and everything that I did was wrong. I felt like a mess, like nothing. And that’s not all. He didn’t only hurt me physically, he hurt me mentally, too. He broke my heart into little pieces with words like “fat cow” and stuff like that (I’m not the smallest person). I was afraid of doing anything because I thought he would scream at me again, would hurt me again. But the worst thing: It’s still going on and it won’t stop.

My mum can’t do anything, she’s always just standing there and is watching. And my brother isn’t better than my father. He treats me like a piece of shit, like I’m his little worker. “Anna do this, Anna do that. Hey, fat Anna, come and do that”. And he hits me, too. Even if it’s just sometimes it kills me.

Now I’m fourteen and he’s still hurting me and. I’m still SI’ing myself. I won’t stop SI’ing if my father still hurts me. I know that I won’t. And it’s getting worse every day. Sometimes I still have some suicide thoughts. Let’s see when I will do another one again.

Don’t think that I haven’t done anything to stop this shit. I did and everything went wrong. I went to a counsellor, yes, but it didn’t help me. They send a letter do my dad for a “family talk” or something like that, I don’t really remember. Well, I just know that I came back from school and my dad just flipped out. He screamed at me, he threw me against the wall and said “I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you!” I really thought that he will do that. He also said: “Get your things together and go! Go away!” and when he said that I was happy. Yes, I was really happy because I thought “Yes, everything will end.” I got my things packed and I was going out when he packed me and pushed me into my room. He hit me more than once, screamed at me and locked me up. It was horrible and I don’t want to remember that day ever again.

Anyway, maybe I will get a “normal” life, without SI, without hurting, without my family. But who knows. It’s far, far away.

If anyone needs someone to talk or something e-mail me.

Memories into Cuts, Cuts in Memories

Copyright, Anna

Life seems so much easier when you can see your problem and not just feel them, reflect back to them in the future not to make the same again. My cutting started when I was about ten, now I’m at the terrible age of fifteen. People always say hold on life will get better, well I’ve been waiting for five fucking years. People say that’s wrong and ask how could you inflict pain when there’s so much in your life, you’re adding pain not taking it away. How I see it is it’s a stress reliever. Some people shop, some people eat, there’s so many different ways, it’s not abnormal in my eyes. I do hide my cuts with long sleeves and wristbands but I’ve been alternating cutting sites now on my stomach, hip, ankles, and thighs. I do enjoy the pain but I only cut in drastic situations. They save my life. I can happily say I’ve cut down on cutting, not to be funny, but now I can deal with a slight scrape, not gashes, the blood makes me feel better, but I don’t need a lake, just a small stream on my wrist and I can just lick away the pain and overwhelming emotions at the time. The scabs now disappear after a few weeks but every so often I just want to go deeper. But try this, more thinner cuts, they feel just as good and you can do more, they will disappear much faster, if hiding them is your main goal. I also forgot to mention I’m a diabetic and am always surrounded with needles and my dad is an alcoholic so I’m waiting for this hell to turn around. But till then I will continue cutting the pain away…

She covers her arms, to hide the scars.
she remembers someone saying, “no one cares who you are”
she bought a ticket and came to the dance
she gave socialising one more chance
she sat in the back from everyone she fled
she cut up her arms and cried as she bled
people kept away, as she bled on the floor
tears ran down her face as she cut some more
“what is she doing, how long has she cried”
they asked as they watched my innocent suicide.


Copyright, Anna

I’ve decided to keep this short. I don’t fit in at school. I don’t have many friends. I get beat up. I take my anger out on the nearest person which means I loose more close friends. I can’t help lashing out at people I just see red and I can’t control myself. I argue with my parents about everything. I spend every night crying in bed and cutting any part of my body that isn’t already cut. I numb my pain with alcohol. I’m only sixteen.


Copyright, Anna

I was fifteen and I started to get really depressed because of my family. My older brother used to beat me up all the time for no reason and I couldn’t defend myself because he was so much stronger than me. My whole family used to argue every minute and I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to stand there and watch as my brother took drugs which ruined his life and my parents used to argue and they split up. I used to cry every night in bed and I spent my evening in my room in the dark lying on the floor alone listening to rock music because I felt I could relate to it but being alone used to make me more depressed. Things started to get worse. I was failing everything at school and was getting in trouble all the time.

I used to get mad at everything and I would lash out at people and I would argue with my friends so they would leave me which made me feel worse. I would argue with teachers which got me in more trouble but I really didn’t care.

Then things started going downward even more. I spent every night hiding in my wardrobe because I just wanted to get away from everything. Then I started to cut up thinking that if I was bleeding I could concentrate on that pain and forget everything else but it didn’t work. People would ask me what happened to my arm and every time I would say “dunno” trying to avoid the truth. I would try and put on a happy face at school pretending like nothing was wrong but I couldn’t take all the lies and tried to commit suicide. All I thought about was killing myself.

My anger lost me a lot of good friends and a year later I’m no better off and now I take drugs trying to numb the pain but not even that works.


Copyright, Anna

I can hardly remember the first time I cut myself. I was 16… only a year ago. I remember crying a lot, and wishing it would hurt more because I couldn’t feel much, I was that hyped up and emotional. I was hypersensitive emotionally, and seemingly dead physically. I wanted someone to notice, and at the same time I wanted no one to. I wanted to tell everyone and keep it my own secret.

Before that whole period of grey when I was depressed, I’d never thought about myself doing it. Then once I started, I couldn’t stop, even though it made me feel sick, even though it made me hate myself even more, even though the scars made me cry.

And counsellors and psychologists did nothing for me; I was reluctant to see them in the first place (they made it all real, somehow) They wanted to stick me on medication. I wanted to know why I felt like I was suffocating every day on a blanket of heat and smog and sadness and hate and anger and guilt. They couldn’t tell me; I left. I was always Miss Everything at school; good grades, good friends, good family… everything was all “good” and no one got it. I didn’t get it. I felt awful, and very, very lonely. In a lot of ways I still do. I’m over the worst of it… but I still remember, and it won’t ever really go away. I don’t want it to. And I want it to more than anything.


Copyright, Anna

I figured it might be therapeutic to write this, so here goes:

Started cutting two years ago. I was always a strange kid, I had friends but I clung to them. My psych says I’m addicted to people. I first cut when I broke up with this guy. But I had problems before that. I used to make myself ill by never going to the loo, god I’ve never admitted that before. I was anorexic, my brother hit me, my dad left and quit contact, blah, blah. We all have stories of our hard lives. But I’m a self-harmer now, now I have a cut on my leg and I’m scared to take off the bandage because it’s too wide to heal over. I do this to myself to give myself an identity, it gets rid of the numbness and takes away the stuff I don’t want to think about. But I don’t want to be this sad forever, I’ll find a way out when I can.

I’ve been cutting for two years, my scars will always be with me, they will hurt my mum and my friends for years, I want to stop but it’s part of my life. I’ve not had a good life and it makes it bearable.


Permanent location: