Copyright, Cara

It seemed like the only logical thing to do. Inflict physical pain on myself as opposed to feeling emotional pain. This worked, for about 25 minutes, then the emotions start flooding back like a tidal wave over your brain. I began cutting when I was thirteen. It was a very hard year for me. I was in grade 8 and lost my first relative and it was my grandfather. We were very close too and the weird thing is I didn’t understand death. I was thirteen and thought I knew everything until that happened and then I regressed back to a four year old. Talk about a rude awakening. Without knowing why this happened to such a kind hearted man, I decided to take all of the pain upon myself. This is when I found a way to cope. This “miracle” coping method was called cutting. I remember the first time I ever cut myself. I was lying in my room and found a screw and I remember concentrating on the tip of it and just scratching my arm in the same spot continuously. With tears pouring down my face and ten minutes of scratching I suddenly felt relieved. I was then able to roll over and sleep. Little did I know by the morning, my arm was bright red and had scratches all over the place. I began wearing long sleeves constantly. Long sleeves and me became best friends. I knew this was my way of dealing with things. I started doing it more frequently as when you get older life seems to become more difficult. After cutting for two years I was now fifteen. I was having the time of my life. Partying, sleeping with my boyfriend and hanging out with awesome people. Despite how happy I was I still found a reason to cut. Then it happened, my stepdad, my world, my best friend in the entire world walked out on me and my family and the next day my papa died. It was a very hard time and I remember cutting myself over three times a day. I always found excuses to cut and I always found ways to hide it. My mom started dating this asshole who was an alcoholic. He made me feel like I was a woman. Not a fifteen year old girl but a woman. He made me feel beautiful. After a few months of this I became nauseous at the site of him. I hated the way he looked at me, complimented me and even spoke to me. I wanted to vomit when I was around him. After this I found something other than a screw to use to cut myself. I found my second “miracle” coping method. A bobby pin. They worked great. They were inconspicuous and easy to get. All I had to do was bite off the rubber tip and start scratching away. This became my world. I was being consumed by cutting. It made me feel wonderful, little did I know what it was doing to my arm. After all this time no one had noticed my arm because I wasn’t causing blood to flow heavy, it was a light thin layer until the day that changed it all. I was so angry and felt out of control that I threw a picture frame at the wall and started using my third and favourite choice as my “miracle” coping method. I picked up all the pieces of glass and threw them out except one. I placed it on my arm and applied pressure. Well, this was the most disgusting yet satisfying feeling I had ever felt. The only reason my mom found out I was cutting was because she washed my clothes and saw a whole arm sleeve covered in blood. Without learning from my mistakes I did it so bad that I needed four stitches. Maybe four stitches seems insignificant but to me, it was exactly what I needed. It was my rude awakening, my “life changing moment”. It woke me the hell up. Here I am now, seventeen years old in a world of pain and an arm full of scars. The difference between now and then is now I haven’t cut for about three weeks. Which is really significant for a girl like myself who has about a thousand scars on her arm and used to use her coping method almost times a day. Every day brings a new struggle for me to deal with and everyday is a fight within to not pick up a sharp object and just slice the pain away.


Copyright, Cara

The first time I cut I wanted to kill myself. I was 14 years old. I didn’t have the courage to go deep enough, but found that it provided a kind of rush and relief that I had never experienced.

Looking at the scars I felt bad and vowed never to do it again.

I managed to maintain a grip on things for about six months, then my aunt had a stroke. Everyone in my family refused to involve me, telling me I was too young.

So I cut again a few times after that. They were not that bad, and that was it for a while.

I had been really depressed for quite a while, and was finding things very hard to cope with.

Then I met this boy, within moments of meeting him I was head over heels, and we were together within a week of meeting. I fell madly in love, and for the first time my problems all went away. Things were amazing, but within a month we were over, and it broke my heart.

Suddenly, all my previous problems came flooding back to me. My home situation isn’t that great, my father is an alcoholic, my mother resents me and my older brother because of my dad, my brother is 25 and has moved out, so I am here all alone.

I began to cut seriously, it started out on my wrists and I could hide it easily, but I grew more and more depressed. I started using razorblades, and cutting deeply all up my arms and legs, I have a few across my stomach as well.

I have attempted suicide three times now, and things are not looking so good, and I’ve been diagnosed with clinical depression, and am still very unhappy.

When I cut I feel this instant relief, it’s unlike anything else in this world. Physical pain is nothing compared to mental pain. I am completely dependant on cutting myself, and rely on it heavily for any emotional security. My life is in pieces, and cutting myself is the only thing that pulls me through the day. I wish things could be different.

I wish I could say there was a happy ending to this but there isn’t. I am feeling the need to cut right now.

To anyone out there who is hurting in the same way, I hope that you get through it, and I know how hard it can be.

The problems I have mentioned here are only the tip of the iceberg, and if anyone wants to contact me then my email address is

I’m still crying those red tears that don’t seem to go away, day or night.

I wish it didn’t have to be like this.

Crying Red Tears

Crying red tears,
Praying to sleep.
And the times I lie there, dirty floorboards,
blood stained sheets,
when I scream your name,
do you hear me?
Do you want to hear me?
I’m the little girl in the corner of the room,
scared of her own shadow,
waiting for her release,
still chasing those rainbows,
still crying,
still hurting,
still wishing for an ending.
The night fills the room,
and she reaches for the blades,
crying red tears,
sitting all alone, I have nothing left to lose,
I am just another disappointment,
as I draw the blade across the flesh I am praying for it all to end.


Permanent location: