Screaming without words

Copyright, Jo

“Screaming Without Words as a Razorblade Romance Spills Crimson Tears”

My name is Jo. I am fifteen years old and I’ve been cutting myself since I was eleven. Eleven may seem a pretty young age to start hurting yourself but I matured quite early. I guess I started cutting myself when I could think of nothing more than what my dad had done to me years before. I would look at photos of myself when I was a baby and sit and cry. Everyone looks cute and pretty when they’re babies. I found a set of pictures one of me with my mum and dad and one with me on my own. In the one of all three of us you could tell I was distressed to have been made to sit next to him. I would look at the one of me on my own and think how could anyone in their right mind think of doing such disgusting and terrible things to such a cute little girl?

When it started happening at such a young age I thought this how everyone’s dad was with them. I didn’t know any better. He would hit me and beat me and do disgusting things with me that hurt me so much inside as well as out. I was never taken outside in the pram, I had to stay inside and inhale his smoke and he would stub his cigarette ends out on me. I ended up in hospital from passive smoking. My lungs have never been the same since. I now find it hard to run up stairs etc., simple things. I get dehydrated and out of breath easily.

My mum took me away from it when I ended up in hospital for the second time because he had beaten me so badly. She was told to go home while he was out, get as many things as she could, leave and never go back. He came after me of course. We’ve moved house so many times but he would follow me home from school to find out where we lived. We knew we had to move as soon as he sent a birthday or Christmas card. We didn’t feel safe.

He appeared in court wanting full custody of me saying that it was my mother who had beaten me and that he could “take care of me” (whatever that meant). For the first few months my dad was allowed to see me on arranged visits on the condition that in these visits he was accompanied by someone. He would turn up in the car with someone and then drop of that person so he could be alone with me.

I won’t go into too much detail about the things he did to me but it was printed in the local newspaper and I think if I was asked why I cut myself it’s always going to come back to that. I got to read the article when I was about eleven and it brought back so many things that I thought I had dealt with and gotten over. Everything just blew up. I started scratching at my wrists and then using razors to cut into them. It gave me such a release; I felt I needed to be punished. Nobody could do such disgusting things to a little girl if she wasn’t bad or evil in some way. After realising what I had started I didn’t want my mum to find out so I hid them until they healed and started cutting my upper arm instead with knives, broken glass etc. while my mum was out. My upper arm was easier to hide. I didn’t feel safe in the house until I had locked myself in, with the keys in the back of the door. He had left me as such a weak and broken empty shell. Very sensitive to shouting and aggression. Very emotional and scared around men. I felt he had ruined my life. Every time I did something wrong, little minor things I would apologise over and over worrying that the person would get angry and hit me. I still do. Little things would upset me. I am also afraid of the dark and can’t sleep at night most of the time. I have nightmares about him and I don’t like the dark because he would come into my room at night.

Mum did find out and she broke down in tears she didn’t understand why I did it. She blamed herself and couldn’t sleep from worrying about me. She didn’t understand, she thought she had taken me away from all that and done everything for me and this was how I thanked her. This made me feel even worse. Life wasn’t worth living. I found a book that she’d bought on the subject. At the time I felt betrayed in someway, that she was treating me like I was a freak.

At primary school everyone branded me a freak. I spent most of my time alone as they were too young and immature to understand what I was going through, it was too much for them. I was never invited to sleepovers and every time I invited someone over their parents would say they weren’t allowed, as they were worried I would influence them to hurt themselves or I had some kind of contagious disease. I would never do that. Bullied and always left out. This didn’t worry me too much at that stage because I thought it would all be forgotten about when I got to high school. In fact, I convinced myself that I would make new friends and not discuss my problems with them. Start over.

When it got to going to high school I made friends, everyone loved me and thought I was a great person to be around. Little did they know I was putting on a brave face for what was going on inside my head. I made friends, really good friends and my life was going well for once. It came to having best friends and having to tell each other everything. No secrets. So I told my best friend, she seemed to be OK with it and it was such a relief, finally I had someone my own age who understood and I could talk to. A few months later, a girl who was known for being a big bully and quite aggressive, not one to mess with came up to me and said that my best friend didn’t want to tell me herself, but she didn’t want to be friends with me anymore. I didn’t understand. I thought everything was great, why didn’t she tell me herself?

The next day everyone was asking why I wasn’t with my best friend and I said to them that she didn’t want to be friends with me anymore and I didn’t know why. So they asked her. She knew that if she said that it was because I hurt and cut myself that everyone would be on my side and think that she was so shallow. So she made up a little story, which got added to over the years. She told them that it was because I was a lesbian. Now, I have nothing against gays or lesbians but I am straight. And I now understand the hurt and abuse gays and lesbians go through when people find out. (Not that it should be kept a secret.) Everyone disowned me like I was dirty and looked at me like I was sick and twisted. My ex-best friend and her little friends who were once my friends too, added on things like, “she corners girls in the toilet and tries to rape them” now, how stupid does that sound? Is it physically possible? And “when she was staying the night she was going through my underwear drawer and I woke up in the middle of the night and she was leaning over me while I was sleeping.” Now if you know me, you’d know I wouldn’t do this kind of thing.

Going to PE was hell because nobody wanted me changing near them because they though I was getting off on them getting changed. Everyone joined in on adding more sick comments and everyone believed them and took the piss. I would spend lunchtimes alone in the toilet wanting to die. They made my life hell. I remember one time I went to my next class after they had cornered me and took the nearest thing I could get which would do some damage. I sat in my maths class with my hands under the table frantically scraping my arm with my locker key. By the time the class was over I had taken off the top layer of skin and water and blood was seeping through.

It wasn’t until some people realised after years of bullying how badly I was actually hurting myself and how this made it worse. I also remember one time where my biology teacher referred me to be taken out of class and spoken to by a guidance teacher when she saw a group of girls putting maggots in my hair and throwing live maggots at me. I hate maggots and creepy crawly things so it was very distressing. The teacher spoke to them and things seems to have settled a bit. I have new friends and they seem to be OK with it. When I meet people I now make it a point of letting them know (not in detail) that I hurt myself because if they can’t handle it then that’s understandable and those people aren’t worth me tying to convince that I’m a nice person. Those who don’t mind are worth knowing.

When I was at my worst sometimes I had to stay out of school because I became so depressed that I would throw up and getting up would make me feel faint from loss of blood. I went to the doctor about it and he said that it was being depressed that was causing me to feel sick etc. He went on and on about my cuts and burn scars and the way he did it made me look so stupid. He wasn’t being sensitive about it at all. He treated me like I was a stupid little girl. I haven’t been back to that doctor since. I tried to stop and did for several months but have recently relapsed into hurting myself but I found this site and I think it helps and if anyone wants to talk please feel free to e-mail me or msg me on

I wouldn’t change what happened because I try to look at it as a positive thing that I can see those who people ignore, I can see signs and I can understand. I’m a good listener and I’d like to talk with others who self harm. I’m not ashamed of it but I’m not proud of it. No one should have to feel alone. I wish it wasn’t such a misunderstood and taboo subject.

How will you know I am hurting,
If you cannot see my pain?
To wear it on my body
Tells what words cannot explain.
C. Blount

My Mistake

Copyright, Jo

I am 13 and I have already slashed my wrists, took 2 overdoses, started drinking, burnt myself and lots of other things. I do all of this because when I was younger my dad died of cancer. I wanted to get back in touch with my dads side of the family but my mum would not let me. Recently I have got in touch with my dads side of the family and I have been told that I have got a half brother but we will never get to meet because he has not been in touch since my dad died. Now I have realised what I have been doing to myself so I am going to try to stop it but I need help and I don’t know who to ask. Do not make the same mistake I did. It’s not worth it.


Copyright, Jo

I was surfing the web for advice and info and came across this site. I read some of the stories and it inspired me to share mine. So here goes:

My name is Jo, I’m 14 and live in the U.K. I started cutting about a year ago when I was being bullied at school. The bullying did eventually stop but the cutting didn’t. The bullying had made me so unhappy and the cutting just seemed to wash it all away. It was addictive.

I’ve lost a lot of my friends but they just don’t understand and thought I was a freak.

About 6 months ago my English teacher saw my arm and held me back after class. she asked what the hell I’d done to myself. I told her they were just scratches from my cat but she didn’t believe me. I felt so stupid to have been found out. She rang my mum and told her what she had seen. I was so scared. I thought that my mum would take me to see a psychiatrist or something but she didn’t. My mum just told me to stop being silly. This really hurt because she didn’t know how much I was hurting. I have never been that close to my mum and now it’s even worse. I have no one to talk to so I just bottle everything up inside and then take it all out on myself. I would really like it if someone would read my story and e-mail me at:

Jo sent me the following update:

I’m back again. Again? Yup, I shared my story first about a year ago, when I had been cutting for about a year or so. About 8 months ago I met my best friend and told her everything. I can’t tell you how much of an angel she was to me, truly indescribable. She helped me stop cutting. Until about 3 months ago I was doing good. Then, during my holidays I was raped. By someone I knew and trusted. The first thing I did was shower and cut. Everywhere. Legs, arms, wrists, stomach… Anywhere. I’ve been cutting ever since. I have realised that the rape was not my fault but no matter how hard I try I can’t get that bastard out of my head. He has destroyed me and I don’t know how much longer I’ll be here.


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