Behind Blue Eyes

Copyright Lauren

My name is Lauren, and if you ever saw me walking down the street or in the hallway at school, you would probably think ‘how I wish I was that girl. She has the perfect family, all the friends in the world and a boyfriend that loves her’. Saying that you wouldn’t realise the fight with myself that goes on behind closed doors.

I am sixteen now and I started cutting when I was thirteen. Looking at me now, you wouldn’t be able to see me as a cutter or depressed. Yes, I have my days but before, I even scared myself. I don’t really know why I started. I had heard about it from various things, TV, friends, family, etc. And I heard it worked at making the pain go away. That night I really don’t know what was going through my head. I didn’t even realise that I had a box knife in my hand cutting my leg. Afterwards, all I felt was… good. It’s like I have found what I was looking for. As the years went on, it escalated from cutting my legs with box knifes, to cutting my arms, legs, shoulders and ankles with razors. I had been in and out of therapy but nothing worked. I would go along thinking that what I was doing was OK and there was nothing wrong with it. I guess you could say I was in denial. I went on this way until my 15th birthday when my best friend saw my arm. Of course I blew up at her and wouldn’t talk to her that whole summer. When school came around, I wasn’t that nervous because I was going to be a sophomore. Still thinking that what I was doing was OK, three months went by of more cutting, more crying, more denial. That is until that certain friend told my counsellor what was going on. Some people may think ‘what a bitch’ and some people may say, ‘that was the nicest thing’. I hated her for a long time until I realised I could have died without her. I started thinking about certain friends that I had, alive and dead that would be disappointed in me. It hurt.

The year went on with me in and out of my counsellor’s office refusing to go get help. Refusing to tell my mom and when he told her, I denied it. It seemed I was in a hole only digging my way down. One day I woke up in a very strange mood. Instead of grudging my way to the bathroom and forcing myself to look in the mirror. I just went to school. Didn’t even look in the mirror. All day I could only think about throwing away the razor. Before I have thrown away razors but they always seemed to appear again, but this time I felt that if I got rid of it, it would be gone forever.

The moment I got home I threw it into a dumpster by my house and never looked back. Now no matter how easy I made that sound, it took six hours.

Doing that has made me a stronger person today. I am more confident because overcoming that obstacle will most likely be the biggest one I have to face. Well, so far. I smile now. I laugh, and I help others with the same problem. Now some may think, ‘oh if she did it on her own she must just have been doing it for sympathy and she probably didn’t even do it that much’. Well, I cut about thirty cuts a day. One day it was up to forty-five. I know some people may not have the will to quit on their own and it is OK to get help. For me that wasn’t it. I like to do things on my own. I can’t erase the many scars on my body but I am beginning to erase that part of my life. Yes, I do have the urges to cut but what person that is recovering from this doesn’t? I have come close to doing it again but my friends Caitlin, Jess, and even Chris have all stopped me. Even when they weren’t with me. I hope this inspires people to get help and begin to quit. Trust me, it’s the better road. It doesn’t have to be like this.


Copyright Lauren

I started cutting last summer, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Anyway, since then, it has only gotten worse: from cat scratches that barely drew any blood, to cuts that can soak a wash rag. No one knew about my cutting until this year, when I told my friend. But when I told her, I had no clue about the response I received: she cut, too. In a weird way, I was relieved; I mean, at least I wasn’t the only person I knew who did this. And I figured that since I had told my new best friend, I should tell my other best friend that I had known forever; but when I told her, she wrote me a note saying that she was going to talk to a counsellor at our school. I freaked out so bad, I mean what if my mom found out? It would kill her, she would be so disappointed in me. I just couldn’t let that happen so I begged my friend not to say anything to anybody. And just like the best friend I was hoping that she was, she didn’t say anything.

Then, the other day, I was at the guy-i-have-a-major-crush-on’s house and stupid me, I forgot and wore shorts. Well, we were sitting next to each other on the swing on his front porch, and he saw them and asked (more like accused) me what they were. When I told him they were nothing, he said not to tell him that bullshit, to tell the truth; so I did. After I told him, he said I shouldn’t do that because he used to too, and it took him forever to stop and he didn’t want anything to happen to me. So that took a toll on my whole feeling about cutting, but not for long.

I wish so bad that I could stop, but I can’t! A lot of my friends don’t understand this, but it isn’t something you can just decide to quit doing and stop; it is an addiction worse than alcohol or drugs. Believe me, if I could stop I would, but I can’t. Also, my friends ask me why I do it, the only thing I can tell them is the truth: it is better to hurt myself than someone else, that is why I cut, not because I am trying to get attention because if I was, I would cut on my wrists where everyone could see, not on my thighs where my pants cover them up.


Copyright Lauren

I began cutting at the age of fifteen. I would use a pair of scissors to cut off the plastic piece on the bottom of a razor. I would lock my bedroom door and cut until I was satisfied. The main reason I began cutting was because I felt like no one cared. I felt as if my life had no meaning. I lost my friends and the attention of my parents. My mother and stepfather were both verbally and physically abusive toward each other, and occasionally verbally abusive toward me and my brother. In January of 2001, I was called to the guidance counsellor because a friend had told her about my old scars as well as fresh ones. I spent eight hours in the hospital, missing the homecoming dance. I was diagnosed with Bipolar II Disorder, which means that my depressive phases were more intense than my manic ones. I went to therapy and got help. The help didn’t last long because I told my mom I wouldn’t do it again and that I felt like I was better and could find different ways to deal with my stress and anger.

About four months later, on the day of a friend of our family’s funeral, my mom saw the scars on my arms again, fresh once more. She cried and screamed at me, “Do you want to end up in a casket??” I screamed back that I didn’t want to and after the funeral, we cried and talked about why I did this again. I’m now almost nineteen years old and am still receiving treatment for this problem. My depression has yet to cease, even though I have a great fiancee. He knows about my past and knows that I am bipolar. What he doesn’t know is that I still feel the urge to cut and am very depressed. Since I moved out on my own, I have seen nothing but problems. I can’t hold a job. I get fired because sometimes I have outbursts at work, as well as I can’t work very well with people telling me what to do. My fiancee and I have financial problems because of this. He is the only one working in our house and I feel like I can’t do anything because I can’t hold a job. I was advised to sign up on disability because of my bipolar. Hopefully, someday I will be healed of the urges to harm myself. I can only pray that my urges go away soon. To this day, it has been three months since I picked up a razor blade to slash my arms. I feel horrible about this problem, although I also feel proud. I feel proud because I know that I’m on my way to recovery and I have battle scars to show that I have had hard times, but I’ve made an effort to overcome the war within myself.

My Story

Copyright Lauren

I can remember the first time I have ever SH like it was yesterday. I was seven years old, my parents had just split up, and it was the same year that my uncle sexually assaulted me. I was at my dad’s apartment. I went into the washroom and punched the mirror. It shattered into a million pieces and my arm was covered in blood. I remember how that had made me feel much better afterwards. When I was thirteen I started cutting once in a while, mostly whenever I was angry or something didn’t go my way. I never told anyone for a long time. I get some sort of rush from seeing my blood and if I don’t bleed I get very angry at myself and that leads me to cut deeper. Last week I cut so deep I had to get ten stitches in my arm, and just yesterday I was in the hospital for an Aspirin overdose. Sometimes I want to stop cutting but there is a part of me that needs the cutting, it’s my way of dealing with all the stress and shit in my life. I’m twenty-one now and my life is still shitty like always. is my e-mail and MSN address for anyone who wants to talk. I’m always up for that.


Copyright Lauren

My name is Lauren and I’m thirteen. I have a very shit life and I’ve been cutting myself for about six months. My best friend does it too. I’ve tried to quit numerous times but I can’t go more than a week without doing it. I like to help people try and stop… If you need any help please e-mail me, or add me to MSN.

Escaping from the blade

Copyright Lauren

I am a fourteen-year-old girl from the UK. I have been doing SI for about a year and a half now and already my left arm is covered in scars, I haven’t done any self inflicted pain on myself in a while but the one that I did last still hasn’t healed up, it’s on my left wrists and it was a really deep cut. Here’s how I became a self injurer, when I was thirteen I used to go down the sea front with all my mates and get really pissed, one day we all went jumping into the water off cliffs I didn’t want to do it so I just drank more and more, by late afternoon I started to get these horrible feelings inside of me, no one had talked to me all afternoon, I felt as though everyone hated me, I stood up and shouted that I was just going for a little walk, I walked around the cliff and smashed the wine bottle, I held a shard of glass up to my arm and slowly cut into my own flesh, I was horrified that I had done it but amazed at how much it made me feel better! I walked back around the cliff where my mates were getting ready to go and I followed, no one knew what I had done. This carried on for about a year after that, my main resons were that I felt as though no one liked me, my best mate of five years told me she hated me and people just said some horrible things to me. But about six months ago my mum was cheking my arms for exzema and she noticed the scars on my arm, she looked at them and I looked at her, her face was blank, then she looked at me and asked “Why?” I started crying, the last thing I wanted was for my mum to find out of my actions. We had a talk and I promised that I would never do it again. I stuck with that promise up until five months later, we went camping in a caravan with my nan her mates and her mates’ grandchildren, I stayed in the caravan with another boy whilst they all went out one day, we were told to clean up the caravan, which we did, but when everyone got back, my mum was in a bad mood and she looked around and said “this isn’t good enough”. I looked at her as she screamed her head off at me then I picked up my bag and left the caravan with my mums words trailing behind me “that’s right, go out and buy some fucking razorblades and slice your arm to pieces I don’t give a shit”. I ran to the beach and sat there for about an hour, blood pouring out of each sleeve. My mum never apologised for that so it’s still in my head and will never go away. I always have an urge to go and cut away the flesh off my arms, but I have to resist it. But I don’t think I will go on much longer resisting it, I am not that strong.


Copyright Lauren

As the blade sinks deeper into the skin,
You feel as though your now in control,
After all those things people have said,
You felt as though everything is your fault,
But as the blood drips down your arm, You think about saying goodbye to this lonely world,
But you stop and once again you think,
I’m in control,
I’m in control now


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