Copyright, Margarita

I can’t remember the first time I began cutting, but it was definitely before I reached the age of ten. I am seventeen now, and I can’t even begin to explain the depths of the torment that I suffered. Less than one year after I was born, my mother was diagnosed with Lyme’s Disease. It might not sound that serious, but it is. She suffers from chronic depression, chronic headaches, diabetes, asthma, and emphysema. She divorced twice; my brother’s father, and then my sister’s father. She is still married to my father, but things have been rough for the past two years, as he has been cheating on my mother with a girl who is my age from Florida. It turns out he has been married before.

When I was seven years old, I was confronted by a young man who stated that he used to work with my father. I’m not sure if that was true of false, but I do know that he completely ruined my life. My father would beat my sister up constantly, and it was a horrible sight to watch. Many things were broken in our house because of it. I was basically led to believe that I had to please everyone else before myself, and when I met DJ, he made sure I kept living like that. He raped me when I was seven years old, and he was twenty-one. He made me swear never to tell my parents or anyone else for that matter. I was confused as a child because of all the issues at home, and I thought that what I was doing was right, and that I was supposed to do whatever I could to make everyone happy. He was an alcoholic and he would beat and rape me every time he was drunk — then again, he did it when he was sober, also. I would always lie and say that the bruises came from bike riding so my parents didn’t suspect anything. I don’t think they believed me, I think they were in denial. As I got older, I learnt what I was doing, but I was too scared, and too far gone, to back out of it. I was already into heavy drugs; DJ was a dealer. I was smoking weed, doing meth, and I looked horrible. I would drink with DJ, and soon, it came to the point where I’d fly into a rampage if I couldn’t get any alcohol. I tried to hint around to my parents, but they just didn’t want to face that anything bad was happening to me, their “perfect” daughter. At the age of fourteen, I became pregnant. I ran away to stay with DJ because that was what he wanted me to do. He had promised that he wouldn’t do anything to hurt me, and I believed him, which was too stupid of me. In the beginning of the year 2002, Devon broke his promise. He beat me to the point where I lost consciousness. When I awoke, I was bleeding from between my legs. I had suffered a miscarriage. I screamed, bolted for the phone on my hands and knees, unable to walk, but he grabbed me and pulled me down, wrapping his hands around my throat. At that point, I truly thought I was going to die. And even if I survived, I didn’t know how I’d make it along.

The next day, Devon committed suicide. Next to him was a note explaining why he did what he did. For a while, I stayed with some friends, unable to move, unable to get out of bed. I didn’t want to do anything because it was just too depressing. Finally, I went back home. Sophomore year (2003) was also the worst year, because of some unfortunate events that occurred with a counsellor I was speaking with. After that, I was put on homebound. While at the mall in June of that year, I met a boy named Bobby. Actually, a man. He was twenty years old. We started dating, and I found out he was abusive. Unfortunately, I still had it in my mind that this was what I was supposed to do: I was supposed to take punishment, because as DJ put it, I deserved it, and I was a “bad little girl”. At this point, also, was when I became diagnosed as schizophrenic, sociopathic, and a number of other terms I had never heard up until that point.

So, Bobby and I were still dating, and he knew nothing of my past, and I didn’t plan on telling him, even though, at the time, I was planning on spending my life with him. We became engaged, and then, of course, the unthinkable happened. He was sent away to jail for robberies. I was absolutely shocked to hear this, but there was nothing I could do for him. He kept insisting that we were going to be together “forever”. After a while, though, he became too much for me. He kept accusing me of cheating on him, and I knew for a fact that he had cheated on me before he had been sent to jail. I met a man in September while I was walking to the library. He was standing on the side of the road waiting for the transit bus to come by, and I knew from far away that I just had to meet this guy. I discovered that he had just turned thirty, and he was living with some girl. We didn’t know much about each other then, but we both knew that we had had some issues in our past that we needed to talk about and get them off our chests.

The point is, somehow, I made it out alive of all those situations, and there was a reason why. I am now fully convinced my parents know of DJ, because just a couple weeks ago, my mom “accidentally” mentioned his name. I still cut every once in a while, mainly over the scars that DJ placed on my body with a piece of glass. I know that it’s “wrong” in some peoples’ minds, and my boyfriend does get mad at me for it. My mom has noticed it, but she won’t say anything. As I said, she’s in denial, and my father’s just stupid. My sister cuts, as well, but I haven’t seen her in a while. She left last year to go live with her abusive crazy father.

So that’s my story, and that’s why I cut. Actually, I think there’s a lot more to it. This, however, is just the shortened version. Personally, I think it’s enough.


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