Copyright Chris

Between 6th and 8th grade I did a pretty good job of faking a smile and putting on a happy disposition for my friends, family, peers, and teachers. I live in a non-abusive household, and my family has an average income. From what I’ve read on this website, I have nothing to complain about. I honestly have no idea why I have wanted to die since I turned eleven. Until this year (my freshman year) I have managed to keep my true feelings inside. A couple months ago, I couldn’t take it any longer. Suicide wasn’t really an option for me, although I have everything required at hand. Hours alone, sharp objects, bottles of prescription and non-prescription pills, and plenty of alcohol all made a quick death tempting. However, I’m Catholic and my faith teaches me that taking one’s life is basically a ticket to Hell. I was determined to make sure that my parents never found out how imperfect their little Christine was.

A couple of magazines and TV programs had mentioned people my age hurting themselves to deal with stress or emotional insecurities. I had tried scratching my knees and elbows until they were raw, and burning my skin with hot water, but it hadn’t given the effect I was hoping for. So one day I took one of my disposable razors, broke off the handle, and pried the blade out with a pair of tweezers. It wasn’t long before there were about fifteen small, shallow cuts in my left wrist. I was about to move on to the upper parts of my arm before I realized that I wouldn’t have any way to hide them. All I owned was t-shirts and a couple hoodies, which wouldn’t block the eyes of other girls in the locker rooms. Although I loved the feeling and wanted desperately to cut over other parts of my body, I have forced myself to keep it to my left wrist, which I always have hidden by a sweatband. Since I have just started, the cuts aren’t very deep, but they get deeper every time. This habit helps me relieve stress and prove to myself that I’m not as weak as some people say I am. I don’t plan to stop.

I’m pretty sure that it will be a while before my parents find out (if they ever). I’ve only told the close friends that I know will never tell, and the only person that has found out accidentally was a guy in my PE class. He looked horrified when he saw, but he promised not to tell anyone. Because this habit makes me feel better, I’m less suicidal. I don’t want to promote cutting, but I’d like to say that it has helped me more than other depression-coping methods ever have.


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