That Bastard

Copyright Izzy

His hot, cruel, unknowing words stab my body. That bastard, I thought he was my friend. I thought I would see a caring face, or a ‘why’, but all I got were laughs and things that made me cry. He doesn’t know anything about it, not a thing, he sees and judges, not aware of the sting, the sting that pierces me. I didn’t know he would do this when I let him see. There he was peering over my shoulder, his words are getting colder and bolder. Mocking me and others who self hurt, so I turned away pulling down my sleeve, and covering my face with my shirt. That bastard.


Copyright Izzy

I started when… I cant even remember. I just know that cutting myself was an escape from my life. Every day I felt more and more useless. Digging the dull-bladed kitchen knife that I took from the kithen made me feel that I was cutting out all the anguish in my life. I do remember the day I did it, I took the knife and when I was in the shower I thought I could hide it on my leg above my ankle, so I sliced. Above it, under it, on it. Soon there was a nice maroonish itchy cut on my leg. I only told my at the time friend. The bitch Ellie on Degrassi. About a few weeks ago I pulled back the scab and my mum saw. So now I have to see some doctor chick. I have met another girl like me who I will call “Martini”. In a way she’s helped because I know I am not alone and if it wasn’t for her I wouldn’t have found out about this place. I guess I’m a bit relieved that it’s out in the open, I’m more angry that I didn’t hide it better. I still cut myself.


Copyright Izzy

They tell me to stop,yeah its so easy sounding to them. They tell me I’m weak, well maybe I am but do they have the courage and fucking strength to hurt themselves as we do and keep going on with this pain filled life as we do? No, they don’t. They don’t really know, what we go through, they just look. Like when they see our scars. “Oh my, what are those on your arms?” they ask, “I cut them” you say “Oh dear…” they say back, not really knowing or looking or hearing. But, that’s not our problem. They talk about us like they do, cos’ they don’t know anything about it.


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