Scarred for Life

Copyright Michimee

My name is Michimee. I really enjoy this website. Whenever I feel alone and depressed, I read the personal stories and I don’t feel so lonely and sad. I too am a cutter. I started cutting about two years ago. I am twenty-five years old. I’ll give you a bit of background about myself:

My earliest memories are of my mom beating the shit out of me. She’d get really violent. She wasn’t a drinker or druggie but she did have some mental problems which she always said she would never discuss. When I was nine years old my mom ran off with her high school boyfriend and left me and my younger sister with my dad. My dad never hit me but he was so strict. I was always grounded for the stupidest things. Also my dad used to frequently call me a ‘whore’, a ‘stupid bitch’, ‘worthless’ and a ‘waste of a life’. Those were his favourites. Plus he would laugh at me with this sinister laugh and bulging eyes. He scared the shit out of me and really made me angry and upset. So because of this I moved out as soon as I turned sixteen. I lived with my boyfriend who after a year started beating the shit out of me. He was like my mom and my dad’s evil sides put together. He was emotionally, psychologically, physically and sexually abusive. Especially sexually. He was really sick. I can’t even believe some of the shit he did to me. But I stayed with him because when he was in a good mood he was so nice. Plus nobody in my life ever loved me as much as he did. Also I felt sorry for him because he had such low self esteem. He hated when I went out so I pretty quickly lost all my friends. Also we got into heroin. All I had was heroin and him so I stayed. Eventually I got really sick, literally, of the whole situation my life was in. So when my boyfriend went to jail for beating up some guy I took advantage of the situation and packed up and left and moved in with a friend. When he got out of jail I ran into him a few times. Each time he beat me up for leaving him. Luckily he never found out where I live, so eventually he got tired of the situation and moved out west. (I live in Ontario, Canada.) Last I heard he was in British Columbia, Canada, living on a boat. Anyway, a few months went by and I made a friend. He was a lot older than me but it didn’t matter. I had quit heroin by this time and was on methadone. This older guy smoked crack so I started to do it with him. Then one night he beat me up and raped me. After this happened his friend stopped by. I was crying and asked for a ride home from his friend since I lived pretty far away. But on the way home his friend pulled his pants down and forced my head down on him. After we got off of the highway, I jumped out of the car. What a fucking night. I just freaked out. I screamed and cried in a ditch for about fifteen minutes, then dragged my beaten body home. Anyway, after this happened, I stopped doing all drugs and got off of methadone. I moved into the YWCA in a secure, safe building where there’s a counsellor there from Monday to Friday from 8:30 am to 4:30 pm and there’s a security guard there at night. This is the first place I’ve felt safe in my whole life. I feel safe but I’m really still not happy. This is also when I started cutting. At first I used a knife, but then I started using a razor blade because it cut deeper and produced more blood. I have about two hundred lines on my upper thighs. These are all scars. Even the ones from two years ago are still highly visible. Cutting makes my pain shift from the inside to the outside, which to me is much better. It takes away all the horrible feelings, memories and flashbacks that I get all the time. It has become addictive and I love doing it. I have no plans to stop. If anyone feels this way too, just wants to talk, or needs a new friend, you can e-mail me at


She stands all alone, so sad and depressed;
Her life is unmanagable and a mess.

Nobody’s listening, nobody cares;
She has to just realize that life isn’t fair.

You see she needs help, she needs a good friend;
Who will listen and help her, be there to the end.

But when she reveals her such ugly past;
People just run and friendships don’t last.

Boy would she love a mother who cares;
Someone to hug her and brush her long hair.

By this time reality’s sure sinking in;
That nobody wants her and that she can’t win.

So she takes out a razor blade, pulls up her sleeves;
She carves in three x’s and a few lines you see.

She wathches the blood run down her legs and arms;
She’s started the pattern of someone who self harms.

This brings her pain from the inside to out;
Cutting and slashing is now what she’s about.

She repeats and repeats this, nothing gets in her way;
She’s finally realized how to make it through the next day.


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