My Story

Copyright, Jessica

I don’t really know why I did it the first time. I don’t really know why I stopped but either way I did. My scars are faded now and they aren’t too deep but the pain I feel is still beneath them. It started one night after my mom and I had a huge fight not only about my friends but my grades at school, still not good enough. I went to my room and turned the lights out and was sitting in almost complete darkness listening to the song ‘.45’. I was crying really hard and then that’s when I saw it out of the corner of my eye, my razor. I had used it for a project a week earlier but I just had never thrown it out. God how I wished I had now. It glistened and gleamed and before I knew it it was in my hand and I was looking down at my arm and a small cut was there. A few beads of blood formed and for some reason I was tired, very tired. I woke up the next morning scared and afraid but that’s how it all began. After that I only did it once or twice a week but then not only was it more frequent they were larger. I would sit in the bathroom at my work and steal a razor from their drawer and cut a little more. Not enough for them to notice but just enough for me. I would scratch while I was at school whenever I felt out of control. I was never in control. I really wish I could really understand why I quit and why I started, maybe then I could help others, but I guess this is as good as I can get. Sharing what little of a story I have because I am tired now, very tired and I just wish to go to sleep.

It Doesn’t Matter

Copyright, Jessica

My name is Jessica and I’ve been cutting ever since I can remember. I live in Laguna Beach and I’m what you call ‘the perfect one’ or ‘plastic’. I don’t really care. One day when I came home from prep school and the phone rang and it was my long term boyfriend named Jason. He called just to call me a slut and we were over. I couldn’t believe it. I really liked Jason and him doing this made me thnk he didn’t even care about what we had. So I ran upstairs crying and collapsed on my bed. After crying for about an hour or so I just couldn’t take it anymore. I dug around in my desk and I found it. The razor I have used ever so often. (Times like these.) It was still sharp and ready to go. So I carved Jason M. Pervery into my wrist in deep gashes so I could feel the pain. I started feeling dizzy so I went to my bathroom and I found a towel and started putting pressure on it and it wouldn’t stop bleeding. So I just held it there and gradually I started to faint. Before I knew it I was passed out. I woke up abut two days later in the hospital with a big bandage on my wrist. My mom and dad were standing next to me. My mum started questioning me like ‘why would you do this hunny? you’re so pretty.’ ‘What were you thinking?’ And my dad started pacing and talking to a psychiatrist. I just wanted to tell my story. And it doesn’t matter whether you are a ‘prep’, ‘goth’, ‘skater’, ‘geek’, whatever all those labels are. It doesn’t matter. You can still cut and the consequences are the same.


Copyright, Jessica

My nightmares occur and reoccur. I feel confused, I can’t concentrate, I feel afraid, angry, and my self-esteem is as low as it has ever been before, I feel like cutting, I feel like nothing is worth living for anymore. As I awake I take a deep breath and let it out, I’m drenched in swear. My heart is racing… I just don’t understand why I keep having these reoccurring nightmares. I scream in my head for fear if I sleep again they will haunt me once more. Why… Why? This shit sucks. Apparently I slipped to sleep again… They’re back again. They can’t possibly understand what type of fucking pain they’re putting me through. I try and fight, but they have bound me so they may use me to their advantage. He undresses me and smiles at me and says, “Don’t cry you weakling”. I try and stop but I’m to the point I am hysterical. He undresses himself and then Jason follows; undressing himself. He penetrates my body and I’m instantly tense… He slips in and out and it starts to burn and with excruciating pain I am feeling, he only continues his enjoyment. I feel like I am bleeding, he pulls out and Jason begins his so-called fun. I say to them I’m going to tell, but Chris hits me and says that they will blame me and it will be my fault so I turn away and let them continue. I am bleeding, Jason pulls out and they untie me and try to make me lay on my stomach, I try to run, but they grab me and put me back on the bed and tie me once again. I yell to them, it hurts… But Chris puts his hand over my mouth to shut me up as he pushes himself inside me. They untie me and make me turn over again and they tie me again. Only this time Jason leans over me and says, “I know you’re going to like this”. He puts his penis in my mouth and begins to rub it… His bodily fluid enters my mouth and I try to spit it out, but before I am able to he pulls out and puts his hand over my mouth and says, “don’t spit it out it’s candy”. And makes me swallow it. But I know what it really is, but I can do nothing about what he’s making me do, I have to let them continue. They untie me and dress me and carry me back to bed and then they tell me that I had a bad dream and tell me to go back to sleep. I let them do that shit to me!


Copyright, Jessica

I self-injured for 6 years. Cumulatively, I spent about 3 of those years in a state hospital. I started doing it when nearly four years of sexual abuse ended. I finally managed to completely quit a year ago, and I always thought that was impossible. I spent about 3 months being ‘healthy’. But then I started using hard drugs. I’ve smoked pot for 5 years, (since I was 14), but when I stopped cutting, I still had this, I don’t know, ‘hole’, a huge ‘hole’, in my heart. Maybe not in my heart, but it was there. So I started using Oxycodone, then cocaine, then crack. I got burned out on those drugs quick, but the ‘hole’ is still there. What do I fill it with? I’ve tried everything. From Christianity to the occult and from overeating to starving myself and sex and education and love and service. But the ‘hole’ is still there. I’ve tried, but I can’t ignore it, and I don’t know how to fill it. Self injury was always my companion that never left my side, stuck with me through everything. But now that I’ve abandoned her, I feel very alone. I’m not depressed; well maybe just a little, but not severely and probably not even clinically, but I guess I just have a ‘hole’.


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