Copyright, Ruth

I remember the first time I realized that hurting myself made me feel better. I was about 11 years old and I had an argument with my brother, I was stood in the kitchen, tears running down my face. My mother was boiling the kettle, so she could make herself a cup of tea. I watched the steam fly out of the spout as she poured it into a cup. When she had left the room I boiled the kettle again, and again, each time holding my hand closer to the steam until my hand was sore and red. I instantly felt better.

My self harm escalated from there. I found myself removing blades from disposable razors in order to cut myself. My arms were soon covered in scars, and I knew I couldn’t keep doing it there as people had begun to notice. So every day for four weeks, I cut myself on my ankles with my newfound blades. I frightened myself because I never felt any pain, no matter how deeply I cut. I just felt better.

My need to cut myself grew, as I was soon carrying blades and scalpels everywhere I went. I would often cut myself in the toilets between lessons at high school, because I felt like it was the only way I could cope.

As time went on, my scars got bigger and my mind became more and more addicted to my ‘friend’.

Now at the age of 19 I still have these feelings, but I rarely follow them through. I found a new release from writing and making films, a way I could express all the hate and pain I was going through, without taking a blade to myself.


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