Does Anyone Feel the Same?

Copyright, Kathleen

My name is Kathleen, but most people call me Kat. I’ve been a cutter for two and half years. I don’t really know how it started. It was a breezy night in October when I took a nail from the lamp on my desk. I had been talking to a friend, Dylan, on AIM about how heartbroken I was (and still am) about a breakup with my first boyfriend, Chris. Without thinking, I took the tip of the nail and pushed it down on the top of my right arm. It hurt, but at the same time it felt good. I pushed harder and dragged the nail back and forth until I had a nice little bloody gash. The strange thing was that I liked it. I put the nail away and thought nothing of it. That is, until the next morning at breakfast. I reached out for the sugar bowl and my mother saw the gash. ‘The cat scratched me’, I lied. She believed me. After that, whenever I felt angry or upset, I would reach for that nail. I have scars all over my upper right arm near my shoulder, a large ‘X’ scar near my hand on the top of my arm, and quite a few ‘X’ marks on my forearm. I slowly graduated from that nail, to a kitchen steak knife, to razor blades. I even used my fingernails if I was in dire need to cut. I had stopped cutting for bout two months when I had the urge again. I broke the blade out of a little pencil sharpener and had intended only to make a few little scratches, but it became much more than that. The blood was everywhere and my arm was full of long, sore, shiny cuts that felt wonderful. I had never been happier. Now, I’m fourteen years old and I hide about six razor blades in an old jewelry box in my room. I used to want to stop. I used to want to get better, but now I’ve just given up. Given in. I don’t want to stop anymore. Sometimes I wonder how I got to be this way. I have two loving parents, a brother who would die for me, loads of friends who stick with me. Basically, a good life. Where did this morbid, shy, girl come from? Why am I like this? I’m definitely not complaining. If anyone else feels this morbid happiness, anyone who doesn’t intend to stop, please contact me. I would like to know that I’m not alone.

My Story

Copyright, Kathleen

I started cutting last year in January, I was fourteen. I was depressed since day one of school. I don’t know why and I still don’t know. I went from that shy girl that couldn’t shut up if she was with her friends to the girl dressed in all black that would sit by herself in the corner drawing. I started to get into wicca and a friend found out. She told a lot of people and then they started calling me a witch and kept asking if I had burned any crosses lately. I gave up on religion since then.

So the school year passed by and I was getting depressed as ever. Then one day some guy asked me out. I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face. Everything was going great! I was going out with friends more and I didn’t wear black all the time. Until one day I was going to the movies with a friend and I was wearing a skirt which was four inches above my knee mind you. My cousin (who is like my big brother to me) saw me and told me I was a whore. My parents agreed too. I went upstairs and changed into the most gothic clothes I had and went to the movies. When I came back my cousin teased me about the skirt. I went upstairs and started to cry a bit. I saw my scissors on the desk. I picked them up and cut my arm, it looked like a cat scratched me. I felt so much better.

My best friend at the time found out. She made me go to the guidance counsellor at school after the second time I did it. My mom was OK with it when she found out and my dad was really mad. I stopped for about six months after that.

Then in the summer I started again because of my job. I was the loner there. Then someone found out from my school and posted it on her LiveJournal. My whole town knew and I lost all of my friends but one. She moved two months later.

I’m fifteen now and I still cut. It isn’t getting better. I’ve tried to stop but I just can’t — not now. I’ve told my parents and hinted to them that I am cutting again and that I want help. They don’t care anymore. So now I don’t care. I guess the point of this was to let the people out there who want to start cutting know that it doesn’t make life easier. If anything it makes it harder and it can be your best friend or your worst enemy.


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