Copyright, KRM

This is my story, I have been cutting for almost four years now, and it seems like every year it gets worse, the first year I only cut when I was angry or depressed, the second year was pretty much the same only a little more often, the third year was when it really started to get bad, that is when I learnt that my parents were getting a divorce, or actually as they put it they were “spending time apart”. The night that they told me this, I was mostly in shock but once it settled in, I just snapped. I have over fourteen different blades that I use, and the night after they had told me, every single one of those was used. I see the scars on my body, and I can’t help but think “why do I do this?” I know that most of the time it is out of anger, but other times, I just feel like it helps me… vent… I guess that is the word that I am using. From my experience most people that I know that do SI, are often very similar to me, they aren’t exactly sure what makes them cut, but they can’t stop. There are very few people that know about my SI, and the people that do I trust them. They know that this is my problem, they all found out by accident, but they still know. After they figured out I thought that my life was ruined, I thought, my friends are never going to talk to me again, they must think I am insane. But to my surprise they did talk to me, they used to help me out a lot too, they don’t help any more because they don’t know that I do it. I made a promise to each one of them that I wouldn’t cut anymore and I did keep my promise for a while, but then afterwards I just couldn’t stop, I stopped for a full six months and then everything went downhill from there, my mom started drinking quite often. She claimed, and still does to this day, that she doesn’t have a problem, but I know that she does. I know that she is just in denial. I think one of the main reasons that I cut is because I can’t take this war that is constantly going on between my parents. Everywhere that they go that they are together is one big battlefield. They both use me as sort of a tool to figure out what the other is doing with his and her life. They seem to think that I am just some sort of tool, that is used and eventually discarded. Every day it feels like I am getting closer and closer to suicide and I have gotten dangerously close these past few weeks. Although I have some serious issues that I need to work out (I am willing to admit that) I am also here if anyone needs to talk. I often like to try and help people as much as I can because I know what they have been through, so if you feel the need, e-mail me. I am usually around to help and if I’m not I will be sure to write you back when I get a spare moment.


Copyright, KRM

When I was younger I didn’t have a care in the world. Everything was great, had a great family, great life, and great friends. Then one day, I don’t know what but I believe that it started when I was eleven, I just snapped. There were several reasons for this. My parents, although they tried to be good parents, were always expecting more then I had to offer. They just kept pushing and pushing, trying to make me live up to what my brother did. I couldn’t take it, that is the first time I cut, one week after I had failed my first class. I didn’t know that it was wrong, I used a sewing needle for crying out loud. I just kept scratching and scratching away, until it started to bleed, and I sat there and watched it bleed. Unlike some people who SI I am not entranced by the sight of blood. The only time I have ever been moderately amused by blood was that first time, because it rolled down my leg like a stream. Then, I stopped. I didn’t cut for almost a year, and I’d say about a week before it had been a full year, my parents told me that they were getting a divorce. Well actually there exact words were that they were “taking time apart”. I went upstairs and just sat there from shock, it had seemed like my parents were doing OK, I mean they had fights like every couple. But I didn’t think that they would go this far. I kept blaming myself for the divorce, I didn’t know what else to do, and that is when it started.

First, it started as getting in fights, I would start fights with my brother or even kids at school and let them win, just because I wanted to feel the pain. Then, one day I walked into my brother’s room and I found his knife, I had seen this knife before several times but I was entranced by it, it felt like the sharpest thing I have ever touched, I know that it wasn’t that sharp but it seemed like it to me. Then I looked around, I had always liked cutting things, just random things usually, but then I looked down, I saw my bare wrist and I wanted to cut it so bad. I wanted to but at the same time I didn’t, my brother had been to the hospital twice for nearly killing himself by doing that so I decided that I would do my ankle. I started to cut, I did it once, just a tiny little cut to see how it felt, and much to my surprise it didn’t hurt at all, it actually felt good. I was so surprised because I thought it was going to hurt like hell. That was the first time I ever truly cut, I still have the scar, it has long since faded from my ankle, but I know it’s there, because every time I look at my ankle I see it there burning into my skin. Sometimes the sight makes me depressed and sometimes it makes me happy. I stole my brothers knife and continued to cut, everyone around me was completely oblivious to my cutting habits, and I hid them well.

Then one day during the summer, I got caught. My mom had just left and I ran upstairs and grabbed my favourite tool, a seven inch long butcher knife. I started hacking away at my ankle (I still hadn’t moved up to my wrist yet). Well, she came inside and there was blood everywhere, she asked me what happened and I started to lie to her then she saw my ankle. Things went downhill after that, me and my mom stopped talking. My mom was very ashamed of me, and that is when I realised that I was ashamed of myself.

I went to a program called “the link” for a psych analysis. The people there found nothing wrong with me, but then again I just kind of sat there and refused to say anything. After my mom learnt about my habit, she started drinking. I don’t mean like normal drinking, I mean like every night I would have to pry a bottle of vodka out of her hand because she had passed out. The good thing was, that when she was passed out, I could cut all I wanted.

My mom caught me again, much in the same way that she caught me the first time. This time she sent me to live with my dad, she also told my dad and that had some interesting effects. The first night I got to his apartment, he smacked me around, which didn’t really affect me since I like pain. That night after he had gone to bed I found a knife just like the one at my mom’s house. That is the first night that I ever cut my wrist, they were very shallow but there were twelve of them in all, I couldn’t take it anymore. It bled and bled and of course I had to sleep on the couch because my dad refused to buy me a bed, and when I awoke the next morning there were blood stains all over the couch.

I got through that and eventually started high school and have been through some good and many bad times, but I always know that I can cut and fell the blood dripping to the floor like my troubles dripping away. Well, a few weeks ago my friend found out, and I trusted him to keep it a secret but no, he goes and tells every single one of my friends. I figured that I would no longer have any friends but surprisingly they were all there to try and help me quit, and I did for a full six months. I have moved back with my mom now, I hate it here still but I am trying to make the best of it, because at least I can see my friends.

A few months back I met a girl, and she is the only girl ever to get me to change, and I did. She wanted me to stop cutting and I did, we made a promise to each other that we would both stop cutting and burning, I did and so did she, about two weeks ago we were talking and she was acting really weird, and I asked her what was wrong and she told me that she had cut again, and once again I went over the edge. I had trusted her, the one person that I actually had trusted who knew what I was going through, went and cut, broke a promise to me after saying to me that she would never break a promise. I just lost it, for the next five days my arm became basically one big blood stain. I would wash it off every morning but it would still be there I could see it, and no matter how hard I scrubbed it wouldn’t go away.

She once again pulled me back after I had fallen over the edge, and this time I thought it would be different, but the only thing that she had to say to me was that it was over. And that brings you up to the current time, I can honestly say that she is the only girl I have ever truly loved. We had so much in common but that is over now. So now I’m sitting here at 3:30 in the morning typing this and looking at my wrist. It is bleeding everywhere and I don’t care, my friends always say the same thing to me, well why don’t you care? And I only have one response: If you lived my life you wouldn’t care either.

Now I know that you are probably thinking that there aren’t that many reasons that I am cutting, well to tell the truth I didn’t list half of them. The main reason I didn’t is because the last time I told someone all my problems, they stabbed me in the back, they used my problems as blackmail, would you still trust people? The second reason is because if my mom ever reads this, then I am dead. I don’t know if I want that or not, but I will see when it comes. But no matter what happens there are two things I know, I can’t trust anyone, and I am alone. No matter what people say, how they are trying to help and everything, that is a lie, everyone who said that they were there for me or that they wanted to help has either, used what they know as blackmail, or just stabbed me in the back. I just don’t know what to do anymore. I want to stop cutting and I want to live a normal life but I know that I can’t now. Because no matter what I will always have these scars. They may fade a little bit, but they are still there, burning deep into my ankle never letting me forget that this is what I have become.

I have become addicted to cutting and I don’t know if I will ever stop. But I am afraid that every day I am getting closer and closer to suicide because every day the cuts are a little bit deeper. I feel that everything that has gone wrong in mine and my parent’s life is my fault. That is why I cut every night, because I want to have to feel the pain that I have put them through, but I can’t feel it anymore. My whole body has just gone numb, I feel nothing except empty. But every day for the past week my blood has gotten a little bit darker and now it is a nice black shade, I am sort of hoping that someone finds out because I know I need help, so if you can help in some way e-mail me at


Copyright, KRM

It has been a few weeks since I last wrote and a lot has happened so I decided to write about it and let you all know what is going on, if anyone cares that is. So lets see where I last left off… Oh yeah, I had told you everything up until me and the only girl that I ever loved realised that we weren’t going to be together. Well from there things kind of went downhill. I’m not sure if you, the reader, know this because I’m not sure if I listed it, but my parents are getting a divorce and my dad is lying about things so that my mom will have no money, which means I can either live in a decent house with my dad or move to an apartment with my mom. I have decided that I’m not going to desert my mom for my ass hole of a father. You people are probably wondering what the hell this has to do with cutting, well I’m getting there so just keep reading. Well my mom found out that I was cutting again, I was cutting for several reasons, the first being that I had lost the love of my life just because I didn’t take my chance to get with her.

The second reason is because my best friend who I can tell anything is moving away. He is one of the few people who actually didn’t desert me when they realised I was cutting and when I say few I mean like two people. He knows everything about me, we have so much in common it’s not even funny, we were even fucking born on the same day. So yeah, he is moving away, and the worst part is my mom wouldn’t let me say goodbye. So my best friend who I can actually talk to about anything is moving to a city an hour and a half away.

So now I can see him once every two weekends. And to top it all off, I might fail this year unless I start doing my work, I understand everything that we do I just don’t do the work. I mean if it was like college where I just got the book and could take the mid-term and final, I would pass in a heartbeat. So anyways, back to my mom catching me. So she came home and I was in my room slicing away at my wrists, she called me down and I walked down and lit up a cigarette, no I’m not crazy my mom lets me smoke because she started when she was younger than me and so she would be a hypocrite if she said anything about it. So I’m sitting there smoking, and I’m wearing a long sleeve shirt that is white, I will never make that mistake again, my cuts hadn’t stopped bleeding and they bled onto my shirt and soon the whole wrist area of my shirt was red. My mom asked me what was going on and I said that I had tripped when I was walking home from the bus, she didn’t believe me and made me show her my wrist. I showed her and she just started crying, my mom rarely cries, I tried to explain to her what had happened but she just wouldn’t listen, she just kept crying and crying, I went up to my room and I sat there for a long time and I thought about all the pain I had caused her, I had to make myself pay somehow but I didn’t want to cut, so I took out my trusty BIC lighter and started to burn the cuts. I know that this isn’t any better but I felt that I had to be punished. Then my brother came in and saw what I was doing and he just sat down and watched, he didn’t say anything until I was finished, then as I put my lighter away he said why do you do that? I looked at him and I couldn’t hold anything back I just told him what all had happened, he actually listened and when I was finished he asked me if my mom knew, I told him that she didn’t and he said well I have to tell her, I begged him not to, for two reasons: One, because I was lying to him and two, because I didn’t want her to know that I could just go upstairs and do the same thing after I had spent twenty minutes in front of her crying. He said that he didn’t want to but he had to, so he did and my mom… cried some more, if you didn’t see that coming I’m really surprised. Well after they had a conversation, my brother came back upstairs and told me to let him see my arm, I showed him because I trusted him. He looked at the blackened cuts (they were black because I tore some of my old ones open, and because I had burnt them). He said Kevin, you need to stop, you are killing our mother and if you care about her a single bit, you will stop. Then he told me to come with him, I did as I was told and I was surprised where he led me, he took me into his room (I have only been into his room once before this time) and into his closet and opened a box that I had always wanted to open, then he showed me the contents and I was so surprised at what I saw that I had to close my eyes and actually register what I saw. Inside the box were at least a hundred razor blades, all that had been turned slightly red, I asked him whose they were and he told me that they were his. I didn’t believe him but then he showed me his ankle. It was basically one giant, red, scar. I was so surprised that he was showing me this, and yet I didn’t understand why he was. Luckily I got the answer that I was looking for, he started to tell me about his high school years. And about how he had cut since he was in 6th grade. I asked him why and he said that it was because of his ex-girlfriend who he had been dating on and off since 6th grade. He took me back into his room and told me story upon story of how he had cut. I asked him why he was telling me this and he said because he had made his mistake and he didn’t want me to make the same one. I told him that I had tried to quit and he said “little brother I know that it’s hard but I don’t want you to end up like I did”. He then told me one final story something that I had never been told by my mom or my dad or any of my family. In the 10th grade, my brother had to go to the hospital because he had cut too deep, it was his first time slashing his wrist, he had always done his ankle. He had hit a vein and if he had gotten to the emergency room fifteen seconds later he would not be here to this day. I was so overwhelmed by everything that I had learnt that I went into my room and just sat there and thought until two in the morning. And it wasn’t like what I normally do when I’m thinking, I had no music on, I had nothing on I was just sitting on my bed and staring at the mirror attached to it and thinking. Then about two or two thirty in the morning I looked at my wrist, and I could feel nothing but hate. Not hate at anyone else but me, I hated myself for what I had put my mom through. My dad too on a much lower level but him too. I then looked around at my room, everywhere there was a blade of some sort. I tried to find a place where I could look without seeing one but I couldn’t. I couldn’t even look at my ceiling fan, because I knew there was a blade taped to the other side. After I realised that I could look nowhere else besides the mirror, I stared at the mirror and saw myself, not like normal people see me, but I saw myself with scars everywhere. They were literally everywhere, even on my face. I touched my face and realised that they weren’t really there. I knew that they weren’t but I just had to make sure. And then I looked down at my wrist and I knew that those were real, and they had just started to scab over, I started scratching away at them hoping that if I scratched them away they wouldn’t scar, that I would never cut again. But deep down I knew that I couldn’t stop, I had tried to stop and it didn’t work, I had tried everything I could think of. I had even offered to go to counselling for it a few weeks back and all it did was made it worse. I have tried talking to people they just think I am suicidal. I just don’t know what to do anymore. I want to stop. I want to just throw away all my blades and try and block out this part of my life, but I can’t because every time I try to throw them away it is like there is a force holding me back. This may sound crazy, but it seems almost like the blade is mocking me, I can just imagine a blade sitting there saying you can’t quit, you know you can’t, don’t even try. I know that may sound crazy but it seems like that is what’s going on. I just don’t know what to do anymore, I said that in my last update but it seems like it’s worse now, like the few things that I still had a little bit of control over just came crashing down on my head. I don’t know how to cope, I have read hundreds of articles on how to cope with SI and I have tried all of the methods that were in there, and none of them helped. I may have stopped for a little while but then I start right back up again. I have been told by other people who SI that I am just doing this for attention. Well they are wrong, if I was doing it for attention, I would show people my cuts and tell them what I do, but no I don’t do that, I hide my cuts, I try not to tell people what I do unless I feel that they need to know. Now the whole school knows about me cutting and all because people don’t know how to shut their mouths. So now the whole school thinks I am a freak. I have made new friends cause of it, and I can talk to them about cutting but I want my old friends back, I want it to be like it was.

The only true friend that I have found now that I have been classified as a freak is R.H. R.H. is a punk, he is a great person to talk to and a great listener. He was the first one, that when I got classified as a freak, talked to me, and that is only because he heard that I was listening to Anti-Flag. Me and R.H. are friends, but it just isn’t the same, I want my old friends back. Why can’t I just turn the clock back and stop myself from ever making that first cut. Why can’t I just stop myself from telling my friend because I thought I could trust him. I am just so confused. I don’t know what else to do, I have tried to other things besides cut, I would smoke cigarettes, yes I still do but I mean like a pack a day, I tried drugs. Name a drug and I have probably tried it. They don’t do anything, they may mess me up, but as soon as I come down from whatever high I’m on, my first thought is always, this doesn’t help. Then I feel that urge, that urge inside me that tells me that I want to cut, I don’t want to cut, I try not to, but somehow I end up cutting. I just don’t know how to quit, I can feel it, every time I cut I get a little bit closer to a vein, and one day I’m gonna hit it and the world will be rid of me. It may cause my mom pain and it may cause the rest of my family pain but in the end it will help them, my mom will no longer have to worry about her problem child, and she won’t have to buy me food so she will be better off. I just think that the world would be a better place without Kevin Modica. Yes I realise that I just used my name but I am done hiding from now on. If you have a problem with who I am, then that is your deal. This may seem like a lot but I figured that I should catch you guys up since this very well may be my last entry. I am being taken to a psychiatric ward tomorrow for a whole week, that is a relatively short time period but once I get out, I know that my cutting is going to get a lot worse. And you never know I might just slip and there I go. So if anyone has any questions about this or just needs to talk, I’m usually always online so go ahead and just email me at


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