My Story

Copyright Jackie

Hi, my name is Jackie. My story of self-mutilation began at the age of fourteen. I started cutting, always hiding my scars. My hands, arms, ankles. I always had an excuse.

The pain was exquisite and calmed my soul. I left school and promised to myself that I would not cut myself again — that I would learn to deal with pain.

It didn’t last long. There were some tough times ahead, emotional abuse, drugs, rejection and thoughts that I wasn’t worthy as a person.

Also extreme low self esteem. It was tough — but I stopped cutting and pinching and hitting myself for five years.

Then at the beginning of 2005 I had a huge fall out with my sister and my girlfriend. The same day we broke up she went out with a girl I suspected was having an affair with her. It broke me and my promise. I cut myself with a kitchen knife. I don’t know how or where I got it. The relief was instantaneous — like a dam wall breaking.

Then I saw what I had done to my arm. Six deep cuts — I could see the layer of fat and pieces of flesh. I received twenty-eight stitches to my arm. Counselling followed and I am now on anti-depressants. It worked for a while. Till a week ago. I broke my right hand — I splintered two of my knuckles. Received two hour surgery to fix it.

I am not looking for attention. Just answers. I want to end all of this and just be. But how?

How do I stop the one thing that always seems to soothe my aching soul?

All About Me

Copyright Jackie

Well, it all started last year. I would cut myself. I never did it for attention. Like some people would say. Because the ones who said that don’t even know me. Well, when I was younger I was molested by my cousin. Who I don’t talk to anymore. Because if he sees me he still tries to touch me. Because no one did anything about it when they found out what he did to me. And my parents fight a lot and I hate when people fight. It hurts me so much. And even if I have nothing to do with it I still feel like it’s all my fault. And I would cut myself. But my school found out about it last year. They had my mother take me to the hospital where they didn’t do anything about it. They only had some lady come and talk to me. Because they thought that I wasn’t ever going to do it again. Well they are wrong. Because I still do it from that day. I have been trying to talk to people but I really don’t like talking to anyone. And they put me on medication. That I don’t take because it doesn’t do anything for me. Well I think that it doesn’t. But I have been trying to do better. I just don’t know if I can. I want to get better but it’s hard because I am so used to cutting myself when something is wrong with me. So whenever something happens to me I try and not do it because if I tell anyone about it they tell me that they won’t ever talk to me again and I don’t want that but my hearing that makes me want to do it more. It’s like me hearing them saying that they don’t care and if I do kill myself they might feel bad for not talking to me anymore. So, yeah, now my mother knows about me doing it still and she thinks that I do it for attention which is not true. It’s just the way I deal with my things. But she doesn’t get it. Well, that’s all for now and I hope that people who don’t cut themselves don’t start because it’s something not good to get into. Believe me, I know, and so does all these other people out here that know it’s not a good thing to be doing.

From Beginning to End

Copyright Jackie

Frantic from pain, I took a kitchen knife, and hacked away at my frail little wrist. I was quite aware that it wasn’t normal for 7th graders to cut themselves up, but it made me feel so good. It drove all the pain away. So, for four years I’d wear jackets in the summer, and bracelets to cover up my secret.

When I was fifteen, I was arrested, and thought that the police would tell my parents, so instead, I told them. I had never seen them so upset, so I tried to stop… Sadly, that only lasted for two weeks. From there on, my cuts became deeper, and multiplied. A few friends had become worried, but I promised to never let it get out of hand. Then, for a few weeks I started to fall into a deep depression. It got to the point where I wouldn’t even get out of bed. I slept about eighteen hours a day. I probably only left it once or twice a day. It was then, that my cutting really started to take off. The only thing I took interest in, was watching myself bleed. I had never felt so low before. All through out the day I thought about dying. I even planned to overdose on my 16th birthday. I had tried killing myself like that a few years back, but chickened out and threw all the pills up. But before I could go through with my plans, my mom found out about my cutting, and a friend called to tell her they were worried about me committing suicide.

I started to see a psychologist, and then a psychiatrist to get myself on antidepressants. I haven’t cut in weeks, but my scars are a haunting reminder. I never would have made it this far without my friend Shane, and I thank God that there are people out there who care enough about me to help me. It’s not fun feeling overwhelmed with sadness… I’m still on the road to recovery, but I know that I have potential for a good future. It makes me sad thinking about how I was so close from taking all that away from myself. It feels good, not having to hide anymore. It’s true freedom.


Copyright Jackie

It’s been about five months since I last hurt myself. Things have been going really great for me. I thought SI was totally behind me. I mean, every once in a while I think about cutting myself, and watching myself bleed, but there is a fine line between thinking about it, and actually doing it. It certainly helps now though, since my boyfriend is so understanding, and not judgemental. And basically, really there for me. We’re so close. It feels so good. I thought that my friend had learnt from my screwup. The one that I discovered was cutting too, her boyfriend or fiancee dude is out of town for a while. And she’s really upset. He’s so scared he actually called me up. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do. I don’t know how to help her. I know the best thing to do is to get her help, turn her in. But I can’t bring myself to do it. I’m trying so hard to hold back the tears. Why am I such a chicken shit? I just wish that help would find her. I love her. If there really is a god, do you think he’ll help her? I really wish he would.

From the Beginning

Copyright Jackie

It wasn’t till the 7th grade that I discovered SI. At first I’d only cut myself once or twice. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself, and I’d wear jackets all year long. I’m surprised no one found that suspicious, since I live in Florida.?

My cutting didn’t really escalate until high school. Each year I’d do a little bit more. During my sophomore? year I really started to cut myself. I had thought I was alone, but then a friend of mine came clean with me and confessed that she started to cut herself too. It wasn’t until we were both arrested that I realised what I was doing was wrong.

For a while I stopped for a guy, I feared losing him. But afterwards, during our messy breakup, I found my blade once more. So here I am, the summer of 2004 cutting… and starting my junior year off like this. This is how I deal with my problems. First I go for alcohol, or Black & Milds… then to my blade. A few people worry about it. When I was arrested I told my mom, but quickly afterwards she forgot after I promised never to do it again. So this is my story.


There I was, wasting away, contemplating suicide. Seriously thinking about it. Sleeping eighteen hours a day and leaving bed twice a day at the most. Sure, I’ve been in and out of depression for the past four years, but now… It has gotten to its worst.

My mum found my blood in the sink, and I was whisked away to a psychologist. I thank God that I wasn’t checked in to a hospital. But now I’m also seeing a psychiatrist. He’s put me on antidepressants and diagnosed me as being on the verge of manic depressive, several symptoms of OCD, and psychotic symptoms. Scary, huh?

Knowing all that made me want to cry. But really, I don’t think I could ever get through this without my friend Shane. I don’t think I’m going to take the sleeping pills like the doc ordered. My personality is starting to come out. But I still feel empty and overwhelmingly sad and angry. But I guess it’s really going to take time…


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