Copyright Ellie

My names Ellie. I’m fourteen. I’ve been SI’ing for about a year. I started at the beginning of the school year. The first time I cut it wasn’t that bad or anything and I just kept doing it. More and more and I couldn’t stop. I loved the pain. So whenever I got sad or depressed or something I would wait till everyone was asleep and just start cutting myself. My mom found out one day because she saw a note I had written. She saw my arm and said: “Oh, it’s a phase, you’ll get out of it. You’re just trying to be little Ms. Doom and Gloom.” So she refused to think anything was wrong with me. She went though this with my older sister Christina and didn’t think anything of it then either. I don’t think she realises that me and my sister have a problem. We both still SI and we do it on a regular basis. I started cutting my wrist because I found out I could hide it by wearing a bunch of bracelets or a wristband. So my mother thinks I have stopped cutting and so do all my friends and stuff. I haven’t stopped. It’s too hard. I stopped for about three weeks a while back because my boyfriend asked me to. So I did but then he dumped me so I started back up again. I don’t know why I’m bothering telling you all this. I guess it just helps me know that I’m not alone and stuff. I don’t know… Well, if any of you want to talk IM me at pookiexmuffinx04 (AIM). OK, I want to stop cutting but I don’t think I can.


Copyright Ellie

I am 13 and can’t remember when I first started cutting, it has to be over a year ago now. I became depressed in year 6 when I had no friends.

I was lying on my bed on a low after crying and I saw my razor lying on my desk. I had read about cutting in lots of magazines. They seemed to be springing up everywhere and unhappy people did it. I was unhappy. it took me an hour of thinking before I had the courage to reach for it. It was hard to make myself bleed. I was resisting from pressing hard enough. When I finally did I felt relief, I had anger and it was seeping away every time I stroked my arm with the blade, I kept doing it until my arm was half covered with blood and the pain became too intense.

It became a habit, I am stuck with. I have friends but they don’t talk about my problem. I do it for the way it releases my pain, but razors don’t have the same effect anymore, I have now started with knives and sharp blades.

I cut every day. In the morning I start to build up the hurt, throughout the day I cover it up with smiles. In the evening I am my own to hurt. And let my despair out, and when the day’s been bad, it shows in my scars.

Maybe someday I will stop but not yet, I rely on it and without it I will be nothing. That blade means I don’t give up on my life, not yet.


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