The Truth

Copyright, Jessi

If you saw me, while walking down the street, you would not look at me twice. I look normal, but what is normal? I am fifteen and started cutting at the age of thirteen. I had my problems that no one else knew of. My mother left my family when I was eight. I basically raised my little sisters (my sisters grew up not knowing that my mom was still a part of my family). One day, my mom came back home, telling us that she had cancer. That just about turned my world upside down. My problems grew from bad to worse over the next few years. Problems that resulted from finding out about myself being a lesbian, and being OCD and having depression. I still cut and to me it’s a release that I couldn’t find before. I hate my way of dealing with my problems. But I find no other way. Cutting is my punishment for being who I am. I can see and understand every one of my faults and anyone else’s. When I cut, I feel alive again, after being under so much pain on the inside for so long. I am writing this to show the others that no one is alone. I have found people to help make me understand myself and to show others that I am always willing to listen.


Copyright, Jessi

I am fifteen years old, I am turning sixteen in June. I started self-mutilating when I moved to Texas about two years ago. When I got back to Wisconsin my mother told me a story that no one has had the guts to tell me. She was afraid I had started to self-mutilate because of it. When I was around three years old or about to turn three my step dad had been watching me and my sisters and he had sexually abused me. He had sexually abused my sisters in the past, so my oldest sister was sick of it. She called my mom and told her to get home now it was an emergency. My mother had walked in on my step-dad sexually abusing me and she called the cops. He is in prison for life now. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t get raped from someone I was close to. I was at my ex-best friend Shana’s house and it was time for me to go home. Her dad wanted to be nice and bring me home. He was drinking but I didn’t think much of it. So he pulled in the back of the trailer park and decided to let me finish my cigarette. I was OK with that, even though I wouldn’t get into any trouble for smoking. So we were sitting there and he was talking to me about how beautiful I was. That is when it was like my mind had wandered off somewhere. Because the next thing I remember was him on top of me. I told him to get off. Then there was a knock on the truck door. It was his daughter. I tried to tell her the next day that he had raped me and she didn’t believe me. So I felt like crying but I couldn’t, I couldn’t even get mad at Jim, at least not until I carved into my skin. Then is when I was cussing up and down, screaming at nothing, and started crying cause I was scared to tell anyone. I still need help with my SI. If there is anyone out there to help me, please contact me at


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