Razor Blade Dreamz

Copyright, Samantha

I am fifteen and I’ve been cutting since I was ten. I have a hard life. It’s always been this way. My father was a druggy who liked to beat the shit out of me. Same with my step-mother. I remember a lot more than people think. I haven’t seen my father since I was nine. But the years I spent with him weren’t the best. They were filled with abuse, mental and physical. My eldest step-brother sexually abused me up until I finally left. It went on for years. No one knew, but then again I never told. He loved hurting me. It made him feel like he was in control. When Christmas came around (when I was nine) my mom took me to my aunt’s. My mom knew something wasn’t right. The bruises weren’t hid very well. Living with my aunt was an improvement but it wasn’t the best either. I stayed in a storage room. There was barely enough room for my bed. My six year old cousin had the other room. I occupied my time by taking care of him. I got him ready for school, fixed his lunch and most important I was there for him when his parents fought. His step-dad would get mad and take it out on him. He is ADD, and it’s hard to have patience with him.

I started cutting when my aunt and uncle had gotten into one of their fights and it was about me. My aunt knew that I had been sexually abused and wanted to confront me about it. My uncle didn’t know how to take it. I remember I was washing dishes and I hadn’t realised what I was doing. I was taking the point of the knife and I was stabbing my palm. For some reason it felt good. I couldn’t hear the yelling or my cousin crying. He didn’t understand why they were yelling. After that I was sent to my grandma’s. Then back to my mom’s. She was dating this guy who never worked and hated me. He never hit me just we were constantly fighting. He would start yelling and I would run to the bathroom and grab my mom’s pocket knife and start slicing my wrist. Then I moved back in with my aunt. My mom sent me away because my real brother moved back in, and her and her boyfriend wasn’t doing so well. Back to cleaning house all the time, taking care of my cousin, and, when I had time, cutting. I moved back in with my mom and she had met a knew guy. They are now married. Me and him fight all the time. I tried committing suicide when I was fourteen. My mom took me to the hospital and then ten days in Brynn Marr (mental/behavioural institution). It’s been a while since then and to this day I still cut. My mom has only found out once. It erupted into a big argument. With my step-dad being drunk and calling me a piece of shit and worse. Cutting is a part of who I am now and I do it a lot but sometimes there is no other solution.


Copyright, Samantha

I’ve been into SI (self injury) in one form or another ever since I can remember. Chewing my fingernails so they bleed, bending my wrists back, jamming my fingers into walls, trying to break my own nose, banging my head off walls; even all the way back at like age 6. This is my story.

I was born on 9/11/84, I had jaundice and had to be in an incubator. When I was small I had breathing problems and the doctors did many tests on me (like barium swallows, chest x-rays, and ultrasounds) and almost had to cut a hole in my throat so I could breathe.

My father was abusive to us, so when I was about 6 months old, me, my mum, and my sister moved to Denver, CO, to stay with some relatives. We stayed about 6 months then we moved back with my dad.

The abuse continued. On 4/17/86 my brother was born.

Throughout my childhood the abuse continued, and periodically we’d move out, staying wherever we could (a couple of times we stayed in shelters), only to move back in with my father.

It wasn’t all bad. There were some fun times too.

I was the kind of kid who got sick easily. Ear infections were the thing I got most. I have memories of antibiotics and doctors’ offices, I remember when I had tubes in my ears.

My father had an at home business where he would fix electronics for people. He even built a ‘shop’ in the basement so he could fix stuff.

My parents were into drinking. The fridge was always stocked with beer. I later learnt from my sister that sometimes she would have to make dinner for me, her and our brother. Sometimes there wouldn’t be enough food.

My father was into drugs and he’d use his ‘shop’ to get high. That’s where the food money would go.

I’d always think that when dad was ‘mad’ it was my fault. Because I was the middle child. My sis was the oldest, the first. My bro was the youngest, the baby. Me, I was the middle one. The one everyone always either blamed stuff on or forgot about.

After a while my mum started going to AA meetings. And dad went to AA and NA meetings. I think they quit drinking. And I think my dad quit drugs. They were really into smoking, too. I think they tried to quit a bunch of times and finally did.

I was never a popular person. Always got picked on, even in kindergarten. I guess that’s why I have low self-esteem. When I was like 10 I had a friend. After a while he asked if we could be boyfriend and girlfriend. Of course I said yes. We were like 10 so we actually just said we were boyfriend and girlfriend and were just friends. After a while he asked me to marry him. I did. The first thing he did afterwards was ask me to have sex with him. I broke up with him. We were still friends. After awhile we got back together. The same thing happened. I broke up with him. After a while we got back together again. The same thing happened. Then I figured out it wasn’t good, so I broke up with him. Then he moved away.

Then in 6th grade I had a friend. We liked each other so we said we were going out. We never actually went out anywhere. Or even went to each others’ houses. We talked on the phone like 2 times. Saw each other in school. The next school year he asked me to marry him. We did in the cafe at lunch. Then he was ashamed of me after awhile because the kids would tease him for going out with me. So he bit himself on the arm and told everyone I did it. And we broke up. Then in like 11th grade, this brother of a friend called me up on valentines and asked me if I’d be his girlfriend. I was feeling lonely so I said yeah. We saw each other on Saturdays. It was bad from the start. He never showered. He was into drugs and stuff. He kept trying to teach me to french kiss, even though I told him I wasn’t ready. He kept trying to get me to do it. He borrowed one of my Gameboy games and never gave it back. Then I was in a car accident one Saturday and couldn’t see him. He didn’t believe me about it.

The next Saturday he took me to his house and tried to get me in the shower with him. I said no, but made him take one. When he got out of the shower he wanted me to be naked while we watched a movie together. I took my shirt off just so he’d leave me alone. He played with my boobs. I told him not to but he didn’t listen. Then he told me he was bi. So I just stopped answering the phone when he called. And it was over.

Then in my second year of 12th grade, 1I met Tim. He was cute and shy and a special ed kid a year younger than me. He was cool. He took care of me when I had mono. My mum made me go to school the whole time. And after I dropped out of school because I was failing from not doing my work because of depression. Then I moved across the street to his family’s apartment because my brother would chase me around with knives and torture me. It lasted the summer. The summer went fast and was fun. We lost our virginity together on July 3rd. He was too controlling, so September 2nd I moved out when he was at school. After 11 days of living with my mum I moved back in with him. Then me and his family and him move farther away. Because they were gonna be evicted. And it was fun at first but then it was not.

I wasn’t allowed to see, talk to, or even talk about my family. Not supposed to give the address or phone number to them. Got punished if one of them called. Stayed with him that time from like September 13th to December 20th. Even when I still lived with my mum before I moved in with Tim, he had to know what I was doing at every second. Even if I’d go somewhere he’d have to have the phone number to call me every 5 minutes. I should have known he was bad news.

On 12/11/00, me, my sister, my brother, and my mum left my dad. We left the bedroom that me, my bro (2 years younger than me), and my sis (4 years older than me) shared for our whole lives. The day we left my sis was 18, I was 16, and my bro was 14. We went to a hotel for the night and then moved in with my grandpa in the morning. Of course all our stuff was still at the house we left. I thought I’d get it back someday. They even told me I could have it all back. It got thrown away. All of it. I’m still bitter about it. Nobody knows though.

My dad got counselling. We didn’t get to see him for like a year. The first time we saw him after that was on my 17th birthday, 9/11/01. He picked me and my bro up from school early.

When I moved out of my mum’s house the first time she tore all the pics and stuff off my walls in my bedroom (the one we shared because we live in a 2 bedroom apartment with my bro).

When I moved back in I cleaned up that room and threw all the stuff I didn’t want or need away.

When I moved out the second time my mum put the stuff she thought was important in the basement and threw the rest away. She had no right to do that. It was all stuff that was mine. She says she didn’t know I’d be back. I know she knew I would be back because she was a victim of abuse too.

OK, here is an update on my family:

My sis is now 23 and she’s into pot and drinking. She has a boyfriend who is very nice to her and to the whole family.

My bro is 17 and I know he’s at least into pot and drinking. I think he’s into worse.

Me, I’m 19. I’m into SI. I was the last one of the 3 kids to lose my virginity. I don’t know when my sister did. My brother I think lost it before he was 15.

My mum has started smoking and drinking again.

I think my dad is up to his old tricks too.

Here is a list of deaths and stuff that that have affected me:

In 1996 my childhood dog that we got when I was 6 had to be put to sleep 2 weeks after my 12th birthday. My cousin’s 2 year old son died in a car crash on the way to his parents wedding. The limo he was in was hit by a drunk driver. My uncle Tom died in his sleep at age 36 after a long battle with cancer. And my uncle Tom from the other side of my family is dying of cancer right now.

All that stuff has happened in my life and I’m only 19. Can you believe it?

I’m struggling with cutting. It’s not that deep yet but it’s very frequent. My mom doesn’t know, my dad doesn’t know. Nobody except my cousin and my sister know. My cousin is OK. My sister yelled at me and freaked out. I think my dad’s mum knows because she always listens at the door whenever I talk to my cousin. She keeps trying to trick me into showing her. It’s mostly on my right leg.

I still talk to Tim, the last boyfriend I had. I’m gonna tell him it’s over soon. It’s gonna be really hard. Well, that’s all for now. If anyone wants to contact me, they can, unless it’s to say “what the hell is wrong with you”).


OK, here’s an update as of 2004-03-05. It’s been fifty-eight days since I last did anything. I now live with my grandparents. My mum found out that I’m a cutter. Mostly everyone knows, mum, dad, gran, pap, sis, bro, some uncles and aunts and cousins. I went to group therapy for a month and now I go to an individual therapist once a week. I’ve found a guy who actually likes me for me and he is awesome. It’s still tough everyday but I’m doing good. If anyone wants to talk, e-mail me and tell me you’re from That’s all for now. Maybe every few months I’ll send an update.


Copyright, Samantha

I am 12 turning 13 and I have been cutting since I was 11. I cut because it releases pain that I hide from others. I try to get involved with more people but they always seem not to listen. When I first did it I was just fucking around and did it for fun. Then it felt good. So then when I was hurting from emotional pain, I remembered the feeling of the blade going through into my skin. So I went to the washroom and cut. Right from the start I was a heavy cutter. I felt like I had no one and like no one cared. I told people because I wanted attention. But then I realised this isn’t the attention I want so I stopped. Then I got really sad and started to cut even more but then I never told anyone. Only this one person. She used to do it, and I guess I look up to her. So, yeah, the only reason why I did it was because I was 11 when my mom passed away. And I used to be so talkative and used to socialise but now I sit in my room and cry; or cut. But I haven’t cut in 2 weeks so that’s pretty good. But I am only not doing it because of people who suspect I’m doing it. And they get hurt so I rather not.


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