Copyright Britny

I’m going to start out by saying be safe. I read these stories all the time and some make me wanna cut, so yeah, just be safe.

OK, well the first time I ever cut I was in 7th grade. My friend had done it for the first time a couple days before and she’d shown me. She hadn’t done it for the ‘release’ or anything. She’d just done it because her other friend had been doing it for a long time and she wanted to try it I guess but I don’t know. Anyway, so I decided to try it too, you know, to see what all the fuss was about? I remember I used one of those stupid little pocket knifes from Claires. I gave myself five cuts on my right calf. I didn’t think it was weird/wrong/stupid/cool or anything. It was just something I was doing. I realised I liked it though. Cutting my own flesh open and actually having the courage to do it made me feel… powerful I guess. But back then I hadn’t known that it could help me when all my feelings built up.

I didn’t cut again until the middle of 8th grade. Everything was just building up. My mom had just had a baby by her new husband (I hate him), ‘friends’ were turning out to be shady, middle school was starting to stress everything about high school, and I was starting to be depressed for no reason everyday (still haven’t got to a doctor about that). Well, one night me, my mom, and my mom’s husband got into a huge fight about something extremely stupid and small. I remember running downstairs to my bathroom to get in the shower since that had become my habit of doing whenever I was upset. I turned the water on the hottest level I could get it, stripped off my sweats and underwear, and collapsed onto the bathroom floor in my t-shirt crying and pounding my fists on the floor and screaming into a towel. I screamed so much that my throat was raw the next morning. But anyway, I stood up and opened my cabinet behind the mirror and just started throwing everything in there against the door and the wall. Until I came to my Claires knife. I had it my hand and I was still pouring tears but I remembered how much I had liked it that one time I had done it, that I decided to do it again. I ended up giving myself about twenty cuts on each of my calves that night. But I’ll tell you it was the best sleep I’d had in a long time after a fight with my parents. I figured out that night that cutting helped me feel better. It seemed to dull my senses and I liked that. I didn’t want to feel when I was hurting.

I didn’t cut for about a month after that. I still hadn’t come to rely on it I guess. Through out the rest of 8th grade and that summer I continued to cut, but only when shit got piled up to where I couldn’t take it anymore. About the end of 8th grade I had moved from cutting my legs to anywhere else I could find. I had also discovered the oh-so-common razor blade. I cut my shoulders a couple times, my chest once or twice, my stomach, hip bones. I even took a steak knife and ran it against the side of my neck. I wasn’t trying to kill myself though. I had tried to cut with a steak knife before and it never really sliced my skin like my razor and Claires knife did so I knew it wouldn’t do anything. I eventually tried my wrist one time when I was extremely upset. I seemed to like that the best. So that’s where I stayed cutting.

My mom found out about it before I had started cutting my wrists or using razor blades. She thought I had stopped though. When she found out I was still doing it she threatened to take me to the fifth floor at the hospital dozens of times. As of lately her favourite thing to say is ‘if you like pain so damn much just tell me. I can make you hurt even worse than cutting yourself will.’ Then she’ll smack me across the face or in the back of the head and be off with it. I tell her as often as she tells me that it doesn’t hurt but of course she doesn’t listen. She doesn’t know how to deal with it so she just tries to punish me for it, but she won’t listen that that doesn’t help either. No matter what I say I don’t think she’ll ever understand.

Last year while I was in 9th grade was when I started to turn to cutting for everything. I was addicted to it by then. All my friends had found out about it by word of mouth by then and whenever I wore a wristband to school everyone knew, ‘Don’t grab Britny’s wrist, she cut.’ High School turned out to be like a whore house for cutters. Literally, everyone knew someone who cut. It was everywhere you turned. 9th grade was very stressful and filled with drama. I cut for anything really, and my mom kept her stand on my cutting situation. Things were never really that strained about it between us. That is until I got my first serious boyfriend.

His name was Dustin but everyone called him Mike because that was his middle name. I’d known him since 7th grade and I’d had a crush on him a few times. Never really anything though. It took us a while but we eventually hooked up. We were in love with each other. I know a lot of people say you can’t be in love when you’re young but I know I was in love. We could never get enough of each other. He helped me stop cutting for a while. I could talk to him about anything and he made me feel better when I was upset. My mom never liked him though. He did drugs and she hated him for that. I never like drugs in the first place so things were strained between us. I didn’t want him to end up like so many pieces of shit that I knew just because of drugs. He deserved a better life than that. We had our ups and downs but we went through it all and we still loved each other.

Skipping a whole bunch of drama that would take me forever to say I’ll sum it all up. We went out for about eight months. We lost our virginity to each other in the 5th month that we dated and it was great. I have no regrets whatsoever. We had sex eighteen times and on the fourteenth time he asked me to marry him. We often talked about being with each other for the rest of lives. I said yes. I would have happily married him. We were so in love with each other.

Us seeing each other was strained though. Since my mom knew he did drugs, she constantly talked shit about him because my biological father hurt my mom a lot and drugs was the main reason he hurt her. When I got grounded once for three weeks, me and him were dying from not seeing each other. I snuck him over in the middle of the night and it was the best night of my life. We ended up getting caught though and I was grounded for even longer. Now the only was I could see him was in school and to sneak him over. I got caught only two more times in sneaking him over. While I was grounded he wasn’t. His mother didn’t really care. So of course he was constantly going out to hang out with his friends while I was stuck home doing nothing. So I would often bitch when he went out and didn’t bother to tell me or anything. This was a time when I would cut for anything again because he wasn’t there to make me feel better. He was making me feel like shit basically but I know he wasn’t doing it on purpose. I carved his name into my thigh twice and my mother found out both times. This led to her hating him. My bitching eventually was the reason we broke up. He left me for some slut that had been trying to hook up with him the whole time we were going out that didn’t bitch. Shit gets even more complicated though.

About a week before he broke up with me I snuck him over and we had sex three times. None of them did we use a condom and every single time he busted inside of me. We had only used a condom three times in all the times that we had actually had sex. I had never ended up pregnant though. Except for this time. I was a week late in my period and I started freaking out. I stole a pregnancy test from my moms work and used it. I turned out positive. I cried for three hours straight. I sliced my wrist open the worst I had ever done. Here I was, fifteen years old, pregnant with the baby whose father left me and was no longer in love with and was hooking up with some slut. I had told myself that I would never get an abortion but the more I thought about it, the more I realised I had to. I couldn’t fuck up both of our lives for a baby that wouldn’t have had a great family anyway. I called my moms friend who I talked to a lot because she was young and went through a lot of the same shit and told her.

She had a friend who did abortions and she said she would take me to him and pay for it and not tell my mom.

When I told Dustin he started to cry. I told him I was getting the abortion and he begged me not to. He’s Christian so he’s against abortions. He told me that he could fall back in love with me and that he didn’t want to be with Vicky (I hate that name) and he wanted to me with me. I told him I was doing it and we didn’t talk about it again after that. The day I got it done he didn’t even call me to see if I was OK or anything. I felt like shit. He was in Wyoming so he couldn’t go with me or anything but anyway. I cut again that night. Worse than the last time.

I eventually got over Dustin though I still loved him with all my heart. We still talked a couple times a week. Then when 10th grade started everything got complicated. I started cutting again for any reason and my mom blamed it all on him. She said if I had never have gone out with him I would have quit by now. If I hadn’t have gone out with him then I might be dead now because trust me, a lot of shit went down while we were dating. Two days after school started, Dustin started dating Vicky and I hated it. But I dealt with it. He left me for bitching and I didn’t want to loose him from my life all together. He dated her for about a month maybe and then they broke up because he didn’t want a girlfriend.

Now me and Dustin talk every weeknight but it’s still hard. My mom hates him and says that she’ll block his number if he ever calls me again. I had to change his name to a different one in my cell phone. Just a week ago (it’s September 24, 2005, now) he told me that he still had a lot of feelings for me and that he never thinks hell love anyone else as much as he did me. I said he’d forget about me one day and he asked how he was supposed to forget about me when my initials are burned into his skin. (He burned my initials into his right arm when my mom said we couldn’t see each other anymore. Kinda hypocritical but oh well.) I realised that I do still have a lot of feelings for Dustin and I don’t think I’ll ever not love him. He’s moving to Kentucky in a month though, so me and him have a plan for me sneaking over his house next weekend and spending the night so we can hang out at least one more time before he leaves. It’s gonna be an interesting weekend that’s all I have to say.

10th grade started about a month and a half ago and I’ve cut ten times already. Every time my mom found out she’s blamed it on Dustin. No matter what I say, she still points the finger at him. Me and my mom will never see eye to eye on my cutting. I know I need to stop but I don’t want to. Cutting helps me feel better and with all the drama that high school comes with, I definitely need to feel better most days. I know a lot of people say that no one can help a cutter, they have to stop themselves. And that’s true. Only a cutter can make themselves stop. But people can help you.

I know most of this was about my relationship with Dustin but if it wasn’t for him than my cutting might be a lot worse than it is now. Like I said, I just might be dead. I don’t think I’ll stop cutting for a long time and frankly it doesn’t bother me. I don’t suggest cutting for anyone, it’s just like drugs really. It’s addicting. People will quit when they wanna quit and that’s all there is to it. If you wanna talk or anything IM me at taintedxdreamz13.


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