Jane Doe

My Story

Copyright Jane Doe

I want to share my experience with self-injury and how deeply it has affected me, and still does to this day. I was thirteen when I first did it. I cut. It’s been two years, and I am now fifteen. This started when I was in 7th and 8th grade, and I was assaulted by some boys from the local high school. I felt… dirty, and shamed, and my family was too busy and too stressed as it was to deal with my petty problems. So I took out my sister’s nail scissors and cut my wrist. It felt almost euphoric, to relieve the pain I felt on the inside by letting it manifest on the outside. I am fifteen now and I haven’t stopped. And I don’t really want to. My family is more strained than ever — financially and emotionally — even though the assault has stopped and I am now almost in 10th grade. It sort of validates the fact that I am alive, when at times, I feel so dead on the inside that it hurts. I cry a lot, and even the smallest things hurt me profoundly these days. This is not a story about overcoming obstacles or regretting what I’ve done — because I haven’t overcome anything and I don’t regret this. This is the less-than-insperational side of what some self-injurers go through.


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