So Confused


Copyright, So Confused

I’ve never done this before, sending a story of cutting on the web. It’s weird. I guess I started self-harm when I was around seven. I’m not really sure why but I liked pain. I made chairs fall on top of me and tied my wrists up so my hands would go purple. One or two times I attempted to strangle myself. I guess I was weak even then. I started cutting when I was twelve. Everyone thought I was doing it because my friend was doing it. I was so depressed because of bullying I just had to do something. I found a screwdriver and scratched my wrists. Sure, it left red marks and released the pressure. After a short time, I didn’t work anymore, so I took the blade out of a sharpener. I didn’t draw blood untill I was thirteen and a half. I’ve been doing it ever since. I want scars. I don’t know why. I haven’t cut for nine days but last night I couldn’t sleep. I keep seeing things walk past my door, voices in my head shouting that I’m a worthless, selfish, stupid cow. My boyfriend is trying to stop me. I don’t deserve help. My mum thinks I stopped, dad hasn’t a clue nor has my brother. I hate my dad. I wish he had hit my over the head with that bottle. I want to cut! But I musn’t. Oh God, I’m going crazy. I’m so scared. I want to die but I don’t want to hurt my mum. If anyone wants to e-mail me about anything, please do.


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