Rock Bottom

Copyright Kristin

I started cutting myself during the first set of exams of grade 9, I first started because a friend of mine had done it so I just thought to myself, what’s the harm, after that it was still just a once in a while thing for fun, I honestly don’t remember when I started to need it. My boyfriend tried to kill himself April 28th, he took 200 pills of Celexa. I can remember that day perfectly. After that I became addicted. I started to need to go deeper and do more. I still didn’t think that much of it though. I should have. I had been cutting for about four or five months and both of my legs were completely destroyed. At the end of July me and my best friend went to a carnival. We took five grams of shrooms each, a gram of hash and had about six or seven beers each. We went home and I almost killed myself (first time). I did a shitload of deep cuts on the outside of my leg, it bled a lot. That night me and my buddy snuck out and almost got raped, we got saved because my friend blacked out and fell face first into the pavement, the forty year old kiddy fiddler of Dresden started screaming and yelling at me that she was going to die, I couldn’t be near my friend anymore, it made me want to kill myself. School started a month later, the first week of school I was always high. all I could do was get stoned and then go home and lay in my basement with the blinds and doors closed and the windows off. My parents yelled at me a lot. They didn’t understand how sad I was, and that was their only way of coping with me. That Saturday I went to an E party, and got really high (on weed of course). I got really bad suicidal thoughts, and then everyone in the room saw the cuts on my stomach. I couldn’t leave my house after that. That Wednesday I was put into the hospital where my cutting became twice as bad. I had to cut myself at least five or six times a day, and they had to be deep. At least a centimetre. I started feeling numb inside, and they put me on more medication. Everything just kept getting worse and worse.

Two days before Christmas I had to get my first set of stitches, six in my arm. I cut into the tendon. When I think about it, really all the cuts on my upper arm needed stitches, I just never really got any of them stitched. Well, after that I was trying hard to quit cutting. Things were just getting to bad, everyone at my school knew that I cut and harassed me about it. People were going around behind my back saying that I was the crazy gothic kid who cut herself, was in a mental hospital and was going to kill everyone. I went to a new school the next semester, and tried to get a new start. It was fucking hard, everyone at this school was so happy and I felt like I wasn’t good enough. I was still getting really depressed.

I was slowly stopping my cutting but becoming bulimic. I talked to BJ at the SAFE program and she told me that a lot of people become bulimic for a bit when they stop cutting, but I was so afraid. That night I cut myself deep and bad. One was at least an inch or deeper, and the other one just wouldn’t stop bleeding. It bled for fifteen hours straight. The next day I had to get my dad to come to school and pick me up so I could get stitches again. Turns out I hit an artery. A millimetre deeper and I’d be dead right now. I hit rock bottom and am terrified to cut myself now. I don’t want to die. I’m doing good, usually I only do it once every two weeks, but I’m still working and trying.


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