Copyright, Frankie

This is my story about my depression with cutting. When I first cut myself it was in 5th grade. My mom would abuse my sisters and brothers and I. When she would leave I had a task and I had to do it right or else. I had to watch all my brothers and sisters. And had to keep the house clean. I couldn’t be on the phone I couldn’t go outside with all my friends. Not even in the summer. It kept on going on till this year’s summer in 2004. In the summer my mom got hooked on meth. She drank more than usual and she was gone more than usual. So I had more time cutting. And I didn’t just cut I also burned myself, I would abuse my self. I didn’t really have friends except my friend Erica. she was my best friend in the whole world. She would help me clean and cook what was left of the food. And she cut to. I didn’t have a way to express myself and let all the anger out. When my mom found out I cut I was in deep trouble. She was hitting me all over the place. She made me clean up my own blood when she was finished with me. Then she left like usual and of course that made it worse. I cut my legs up really bad, I burned my legs bad. And I called my grandmother and told her we didn’t have any food and I need help. She picked us up. Once in a while I would cut. I cut because I can say that hurts and the rest of my messed up body wouldn’t hurt anymore. It felt good when I would abuse myself. It took all my worries away and all the anger that was built up in side of me. And that’s my story.


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