Copyright Christina

I’m a sixteen-year-old only child who has been self injuring in various forms for over six years. Like most of us here, I’ve had more than a few cuts and burns, flirtations with death, and yes ridiculous dramatic episodes that did nothing but upset my amazing parents.

I was diagnosed with all those fun things they’ll slap onto your records, and I swallowed all of the pills thrown at me. I thought that I was uncureable because of my brain chemistry. I found out that all of the pain in my life was nothing the morning my dad and I went to see my mom after a routine surgery and she was dead. I found out that I was uncureable because the world will not adjust for me. No pill will bring her back.

I always felt bad about being depressed when I thought about people less fortunate than me, or saw those commercials for Catholic relief funds of the starving babies in Africa, but after coming home late at night after a date and having no one to talk to about it, and realising that no one is going to tell me to go to bed, and losing the one person that understands me and could anticipate my every move. I have intense urges to burn myself, bash my head into walls, cut myself, and overdose. It doesn’t feel the same. I think that I have experienced the ultimate pain I can feel, which sort of makes me numb towards everything else.

I realised that life is a very very difficult thing, which is why you’re not supposed to do it alone. I cannot hurt myself because my dad would not have anyone. When I tried to kill myself my dad and my boyfriend helped me recover. Use your family and friends to ‘cure’ you? I got a crash course in it.


Copyright Christina

My name is Christina and I’m fifteen years old. I started thinking about cutting in the 4th grade and by 6th grade I was addicted to it. Even after one of my friends went to a counsellor about it I only stopped for about two months and then was worse then ever. I would cut my wrists, ankles, my thighs. I can recall one Christmas eve when my mom caught me bleeding furiously. I think I had bled through like twenty tissues and it was all over my hand. She freaked out, that was one of the worst christmas’ ever. That was the only time she ever saw though. After that I had stopped for a good three maybe four months, I think really just because during that time she was looking for any kind of cuts. Then I started again but not as much as before. I kept it very secret, thats when I started cutting my thigh, which I think is the one place on my body that has the most self inflicted scars. After I went into homeschooling in the middle of 7th grade I stopped completely. Then after I met my boyfriend in the beginning of the summer before 9th grade he told me that he was a cutter. He showed me all his gashes on his arm and it just reminded me so much of my cutting. I missed it so much then. And about two months into our relationship everything was good and then I couldnt resist it anymore and with school completly stressing me out I started up again (but barely). This time I started using scissors instead of a razor blade and doing it during school usually in my medical class. Also I started experimenting with beating myself up. I would bang my head into walls and doors repeatedly and punch my arm as hard as possible until my hand hurt too much to continue. One day my boyfriend comes to me and says that he’s decided to stop cutting because if his parents found out they’d lock him up. He then told me that he also wants me to stop because h feels responsible for making me start agian. Now you have to understand that I love my boyfriend with all my heart. So on his request even though it was hard I stopped. We have now been together for over a year and are still just as much in love as before if not more. I haven’t cut since. And neither has he. I of all people know that it’s a dangerous addiction and yes it is addicting. I can’t explain why but I do know it is soemthing that everyone can overcome. No matter who they are. Good luck to all of you out there battling this.


Copyright Christina

It was never being afraid of someone you loved but loving someone who you were afraid of. It was my fault he was the only one who could accept me for all the cuts old and new, the bruises, but than again he made those. It died in the summer of 2004 in a car accident. It was after we had a fight at his house. I knew I loved him because he was the only one who could touch me and love me with out being scared. What hurt me the most is sometimes I think he was so drunk he couldn’t have remembered he had hit me the night before and if he did he blocked them out harder than I have even tried to. Sometimes I think he blocked out all of the bad and sometimes the good things we went through. I am mad that I was mad at him when he died. I am mad he was mad at me. I am mad he hit me before he left. I am mad that I couldn’t have ever shown him how much he hurt me. I am mad that I never got to tell him how much I loved him. And the thing I am the mad about the most is I never got to say goodbye. I am in my own little world. Therapy three times a week. I was put into a hospital for the rest of the summer and I was just released on December 20, 2004. I loved it actually not being with anyone not having to answer to my parents friends or family. I was in there for a while but I got lucky and even when I was in there I still cut with whatever I could find. I was basically a mute. I spoke to no one but my roommate. And it was like I had so much to say but all I could do is cry when she talked to me. I felt sorry for her always talking and me crying. I was not only in the hospital in San Francisco because I was beaten by my former boyfriend but I was a cutter. I had deep cuts and never had any stitches. I never let a doctor or my parents or anyone other than my boyfriend see. On my arms on my forearms on my thighs and on my stomach. At first it was a bunch of little cuts and after a while it became deeper and soon enough it was never deep enough. I dated him for almost five years. I have been cutting for over five years. It’s an addiction. It’s my addiction. He was my addiction. In a way he took everything but he was all I ever had. I miss him and I still cry when I think about him. I still cry and cut. But it’s been years now that I have been a cutter. And I am doing a lot better. Not even trying to preach just needed to tell someone my story.

Never-ending Cycle

Copyright, Christina

My story begins when I was 10 years old. I had suffered a lot of loss and abuse by this time. That is when I realised that cutting felt good, it started when I accidentally cut my leg shaving. It seemed to be the greatest release. Nothing else seemed to help. It took a lot of therapy and DBT to finally stop. This was the greatest battle of my life. I was alone and continued this way until I turned 19 years old. When I got pregnant with my oldest son. I had quit cutting for 7 years, what a struggle. Then out of nowhere I had a relapse. The most important thing to remember is that a relapse may happen, but don’t let it control you. You control it. My prayers are with everyone fighting this never-ending cycle.


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