My Story

Copyright Lizzie

I’m going to tell about my addiction to self-injury in hopes that everyone out there who has ever hated themselves might believe that they are not alone and that there are people out there who want to help.

My name is Lizzie and I am fifteen years old. The first time I tried committing suicide was when I was nine, but I didn’t start cutting until last summer. It all started when I couldn’t take the way I felt about myself anymore. So I took about fifteen tablets of Ibuprofen and went to sleep, hoping I wouldn’t wake up in the morning. When I did, I called my best friend, Travis. He told me how much he cared about me and didn’t think he’d ever be able to go to my funeral if he knew he could have stopped it. And that is when I first learnt about cutting. He said it was an easier way to take the pain away without actually dying. I tried it with a safety pin and when my mother saw the word ‘broken’ carved on my arm, she sent me away to a Boys and Girls home for a weekend. After that, the urges just got worse. I started moving on to broken glass, then to razors and knives. I guess my mom just pretty much gave up on me. She gets mad all the time because I just don’t think she knows what to do anymore. One night, after we got into it, she came upstairs with a knife and said, ‘Go ahead. Slit your fucking wrists and see how much I care…’ So yeah. I guess it’s pretty hard on her. She’s always screaming at me and telling me how worthless I am. It’s like she doesn’t want me to go to bed knowing I’m loved. She has to make sure I know how much she hates me. I’m not sure how my brothers take it. I wish they’d ask me about it. I want to know how they feel. But they don’t. So now, cutting is just my easy way out. If I don’t want to deal with something, even something stupid that I KNOW I can get through, I cut myself. And every cut is deeper than the last.

In a sick, twisted way SI’ing makes everything better, even if it is just for two or three minutes sometimes. It’s like a high. All self-harmers know what I’m talking about. Your adrenaline is pumping and you can’t catch your breath. You feel you heart beating against your chest. And then, you go somewhere. In your head. You go somewhere peaceful. Where ever it is you go, everything is alright with you. You don’t have to pretend to be OK because you really are. Then you snap back into reality and see that nothing is ever perfect. And for those of you who think you can just stop hurting yourself whenever you want to, news flash. You can’t. You become to dependent upon it. There are times where I know I can’t get through the night without it. You are clueless as to how to deal with your feelings. You can push them aside, but then you’re overflowing with emotions you never knew you had and then you explode. Cutting is like an escape. It lets you feel real.

Attention: Self-harmers are way too often criticised for being babies or for being weak when really we just don’t know any other way to deal with things besides hurting ourselves. I know a lot of people now that cut and I just never knew they had it that bad.People make fun of people who hate themselves and who cut, but they don’t know them. They don’t know what happens at home when no one is watching. They don’t see the hate that eats away at them. I know a lot of kids who cut and I never knew they had it bad. People don’t seem to realise that so many of us just put on fake smiles and act like nothings wrong so nobody thinks we’re weird or crazy. People can handle so much before they cave in, and every single one of us that have ever cut know how much we can and cannot handle. Cutting is a cry for help. I will admit that it is asking for help in all the wrong ways, but it is a cry for help at the same time. Those of you who constantly tell your friends that hurt themselves to stop doing it, that is nearly impossible. You can’t just… stop. You become addicted. And you need another way of expressing yourself. I’ve noticed that writing is a great way to express your feelings, without the knife. I have been writing for as long as I can remember. And if it comes from your heart, then there is no such thing as a bad poem. So if you’re ever feeling down, I encourage you to at least try to write something. It’s never going to be amazing your first try. But you’ll be surprised at how much better you feel afterword. Also, don’t be afraid to try seeing a counsellor. I know everybody thinks you have to be completely insane to see one, but you don’t. They are there to help and listen. And believe what you want, but they DO care about you. They WANT you to be alright. What will it hurt if you write some words down or go talk to someone? Here is a poem I wrote, and if anything I hope it touches you and really makes you think.

Teenage Suicide

she says shes okay, they’re just some black eyes
but they cant seem to see through her masked disguise
her daddy’s a drunk and he beats her at night
powerless, she’s too weakened to put up a fight
pain she cant control takes over her life
it gets in her head then flows out her knife
in her broken world, cutting keeps her sane
all she controls is her self-inflicted pain
everyone’s too busy to help her get through
so hurting herself is all she can do
people see her scars, but they never think twice
maybe this girl doesn’t have it so nice
but its too late shes at home with a gun to her head
she feels like shes worthless and better off dead
and just like that there goes one more teenage suicide
another life lost because nobody tried
a beautiful girl that can never be replaced
somebody’s life that has now been erased
if someone would have been there just one time for her
maybe this nightmare would have never occurred
but it did and we’ve got to live with the shame
no pointing any fingers, we’re all to blame
so the next time someone asks for your help or advice
remember this story and try thinking twice

And that is my story. So I hope that you think about what I’ve said before you think about starting to cut or to continue doing it. Don’t be afraid to ask for help because there ARE people out there who want to be there for you. And remember: You are not alone.


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