My Story

Copyright, Hannah

I am sixteen, female, I live in west Australia, finished school two days ago and I have a seriously shitty problem. It’s called my life.

It’s never been a life of joy from what I remember. The memories start when I was six or seven years old in year three of primary school. I never had many friends, people just seemed to be repelled by me. At lunch breaks I used to smash my head against walls. I don’t know why but I did it anyway. After school was over, I would go home and look in the mirror at myself then go to my room and cry because I hated what I was so much. This is at seven years of age…

It gradually got worse for me. Through most of primary school I had maybe one or two friends at a time. I was miserable. After a few years I started to scratch my arms and legs with sticks and twigs that I could find. Still nothing.

In the later years of primary school, I got picked on so much because people just sensed something odd and different about me I guess, I would cry constantly and uncontrollably for sometimes no reason at all and I hated it all.

After I finished primary school and moved on to high school, I had heard stories about people being bashed up for no reason and stuff like that so I decided to stop being a baby and stop crying. So I did and it lead to me becoming apathetic (feeling or showing no emotion — not caring) for years and keeping everything shut away.

After a while of this, I must have slipped a little because I started to scratch myself with pins and things. This continued for a bit longer and eventually half way through high school when I was about thirteen or fourteen years old a crack opened up and I started to get majorly depressed and miserable, this lasted for ages and for a few weeks or a month I stopped speaking. Eventually I got to a point where the crack covered over and I calmed down a lot but this only lasted till the end of 2003 when I went on a holiday over the summer holidays to stay with my mum’s boyfriend across the country. I had so much time to myself alone in my room I just lost all control and went crazy I think. I got my shaver and smashed it until the blades came out and I started to scratch my arm with that a little bit. I got sick at this because it didn’t bleed enough and it wasn’t enough for me, so I stole a Stanley knife and started to slice open my arm and watch the blood flow out down my arm.

I started to stay awake at night and sleep all day so I didn’t have to be around anyone, people would have just got in my way and I didn’t want to deal with them. I spent nights on the net and cutting and this lasted seven weeks until I finally got home and still continued cutting.

It’s almost the end of 2004 now and I have been diagnosed with borderline personality disorder about two months ago and got put on anti-depressants — two a day…

Earlier this year I also started to smoke marijuana and drink a bit more than usual at parties and so on. And recently I have stopped taking my pills because they are making me feel strange and not right inside, it’s like I still feel everything, it’s just covered by the pills and ignored and it’s not me, I have been how I am my whole life and the pills just changed it all and I can’t take it anymore.

I have had many many thoughts of suicide and have almost acted on them a few times.

The thing is, there are people out there who have been abused and had terrible things happen through their life who are fine, then there is me who has had nothing like that happen and I am like this. Sometimes I wish something had happened so I had a reason to feel this way, but I don’t.

Well, this is my life and if you have actually bothered to read all this then you deserve a medal or some sort of award.

Thanks to those who actually bothered reading this all the way through and good luck with whatever it is you are facing.


Copyright, Hannah

This is is the first time I’ve done something like this before. I’m 13 and I’ve been cutting for 6 months. I get so angry with myself because some would say I have the perfect life, rich, pretty, clever, popular, but it’s not me. I’ve got no immediate reason to cut my arms, I just feel so depressed and can’t figure out why? Does anyone else feel like this? Probably not, I’ve always been crazy, but now I really am, why should I feel depressed when I should be so happy — I don’t understand. One girl at school saw my cuts in p.e. she said that she had done the same recently and showed me her scars. She has a tricky home life though, so she doesn’t understand why I cut, it’s good to talk though sometimes. I wish I could stop but it makes me feel real, I am someone when I have scars on my arms, I don’t show anyone or let anyone see, I’m ashamed. The weird thing is, I don’t want to stop, it makes me feel so good, I get excited when I pick up the scissors, I get carried away, the pain feels so good, like an adrenaline rush. Please help me…


Copyright, Hannah

I’m 16 years old and I harm myself. I’ve been doing it since I was 12 and after stopping for 2 years I’ve started again. At first I used to cut my hands with the razors out of sharpeners. It didn’t make me feel good it just stopped me from concentrating on the pain in my heart. I did it because I was being bullied and so it made visible the scars of what was inside. One day I was feeling so low I went into the kitchen picked up a pair of scissors and just cut the flesh in my arm. The blood went everywhere but I just watched as if I was watching a movie not myself. That’s when I realised I had a problem. My mum would always ask me “how have you done that?” and I would make up stupid excuses. The worst time I ever self harmed myself was when I was in the bath, I took a compass with me and I stabbed my wrist over and over again. The blood was streaming everywhere and I started to panic and I realised I didn’t want to die. After that I stopped for two years.

Now I’m 16 and like every 16 year old girl I fell in love and he didn’t feel the same way about me so instead of crying I’m using razors to make my body cry. I know it sounds sick but if you saw me in the street you would think I was a normal person. My family is the best in the world, I adore my mum so much we never argue. I even got two A’s, three B’s and three C’s for my GCSE’s yet still I do this to myself.

I feel that I’m writing this story so that I stop it for good, you see today and last night I cut my arm up good and proper and the worst of it all is that it’s over a lad. How pathetic. If there are some self harmers out there that are thinking of not stopping please stop. I’m sitting here in pain and it’s pain that I have inflicted on myself. My best friend gives me sympathy for the cuts and I sit there thinking “I don’t deserve your sympathy, I’ve done this myself”. I hope I stop and I hope that you self harmers out there stop too. It’s not worth it.



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