Copyright Chrissy

The idea of cutting yourself was presented to me in fourth grade through a story I had read on the internet, but I didn’t cut until three years later in seventh grade. The cutting had been triggered by a stressful time with a good friend of mine. I don’t remember the day I started, but I do remember that in 7th and 8th grade I couldn’t cut deep and only every six days and they had to be able to heal in that time because I had swimming class. It was easy then. I don’t think I then I was able to cut deeper. I didn’t do it often… At least not then. Then in 9th grade I didn’t cut at all, but I did have very bad depression. I find it odd that although then I didn’t cut I do now, over a year later. It was that summer after I’d started taking my anti-depressants for a couple months that I started cutting more and then one of my friends called me on it, and then admitted she did too.

I knew I wasn’t alone in cutting but I had no idea a friend of mine did as well. I felt happy and guilty for my joy in finding someone like me. The cutting has gotten worse… Before this year I only did light scratches but now I won’t stop until they bleed. I never burned myself although sometimes I would hit myself. Cutting has always been my preferred way to SI. I use a scissor that’s fairly dull.

I usually take it slow. Press down. Slide back and forth. I can tell when I hit a deeper layer. I have a rag I use. I ripped up an old tank top one night after I first drew blood and have been using it since. One day my mom cleaned my room and I noticed it had been thrown away, but my mom didn’t say anything… She also threw away some cards from my friend in reference to cutting. I was so desperate for them back I went through the trash bag she had used. Later though after I confronted her she seemed not to understand why the rag was bloody. I felt dumb and ashamed and embarrassed to the point I couldn’t say that I cut myself. I just cried until she guessed correctly. She promised help, but I haven’t gotten it yet. I’m afraid to remind her of that because I know she feels like what I’m doing is because of her lack of parenting skills or some crap like that. I made her promise never to tell my dad… I don’t think she has which is good because the thought of my dad knowing I SI would be worse than when my mom told him I was on “happy pills” something he thinks is just… not needed.

I’ve tried to quit cutting but I get withdrawals. Something will happen and I can’t fight it. The worst thing about it is that sometimes I don’t even want to quit. I feel somewhat possessive of it. I hope someday I won’t need to SI anymore, but I don’t see that being any day soon.


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