My Story

Copyright Dallas

I’ve been told by my friends several times that I’m the kind of person that everyone wants to be: Smart, funny, good looks, rebellious, and yet very friendly. I have many friends, a loving family and a great life… and yet, I still hurt myself.

I first started cutting when I was in grade 9. I was a confused teenager with a past full of horrifying events, such as being assaulted, almost murdered, and losing my memory of before that day, when I was eight. One day, I saw one of my actual friends with cut marks on her arm. I went home that night, and cut my arm. Somehow, the pain felt good… I ended up cutting once a month, then once a week… Near the end of grade 11, I would have to cut at least once a day to feel even normal. I even did it during school. But it became harder once I became social. My friends would find out, start freaking out, and some even have called the cops on me. That sparked my parents to bring me to a doctor. The test results: Severe chronic depression, chronic anxiety, ADHD (irrelevant, I know), and borderline suicidal. To my surprise, he didn’t tell my parents that I cut.

Once I got to college, things started to get better in my life… or so it seemed. The overwhelming stress of school sparked my cutting once again. This time, however, didn’t go so well. I ended up in the hospital, then when I got out, I had to talk to the college counsellor… It truly was a nightmare. In hopes to try and stop cutting, I turned to drugs and alcohol… Didn’t turn out well. I had become addicted to those instead. So after six months, I quit that and went back to cutting. Which was the better decision in my mind. However, my parents finally found out (after six years of being in the dark about it) that I cut myself. And they’ve been very supportive.

Looking back at all the scars on my arms and legs, I keep thinking to myself if the cutting was worth it. I still cut at least once a week, and I still have huge urges to cut more than that, but I’m fighting them now, and I’m recovering well.


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