Copyright, Natasha

I have cut since I was 11 or 12, I am now 13.

My parents argue about money, not having enough food, and my dad not having a job. I couldn’t take it anymore. Earlier that day I had to go shopping, I was scared I wanted to go in a corner and slice up my arms. I felt like everyone was staring at me and judging me, and laughing at me inside their head. I was almost ready to just run away, go to the bathroom and cut. But I waited till later.

I got home, my parents still arguing. It drove me crazy. And my mother bitching at me to get my grades higher, stop trying to get so much attention by “pretending” to be scared.

I went up to the bathroom, took all the medicine I could find, Advil, Tylenol and sleeping pills, washed it all down with cough syrup and I slit my wrists.

I went back to my room, shut the door and lay on the floor, the blood poured from my wrists and onto the floor. The blood wouldn’t stop. I passed out. I woke up the next morning at 4 am. Realising I had school that day. I forced myself to get up and put a bandage around my wrists. I cleaned up all the blood, some of it has soaked into the wood. I erased all evidence of this happening. I knew if my mother had fond out I would go straight to the hospital.

I still SI. It’s my way of dealing with things. Though, I’m never satisfied, I want to cut deeper and deeper. But I’m scared. I want to die, but at the same time, I don’t.


Copyright, Natasha

Most of my time is spent of thinking of past memories, ones I’d rather forget. But can’t. They have a hold over me, like a thing that slowly breaks you down until you loose the war and it’s ended.

It would be so much easier if I could take my life and end it all in an instant, but than I would have lost the battle.

So instead I’ll march on, through the thick mud in my head, and stop looking to the past, and instead look to the future, yet I see nothing.

The noises around me drive me crazy, I can’t sleep and am very stressed. But I’ll get over it, like I always do.

But do I?

It always comes back.

So I’ll keep sailing the rough oceans of life, in my small boat, and wait for the one storm that shatters my boat into a thousand pieces, maybe then I will find peace.


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