Psyke.org

Tiffany

I Don’t Know

Copyright Tiffany

I don’t exactly know what to say, except that I know your pain. Abuse is a lifestyle for me. I’m eighteen years old, and I have been cutting for two years. I was in recovery but relapsed. But, hey, I knew it would happen. I started because, well, honestly I don’t know why, but what I do know now is that I’m addicted and find it as the easiest way to handle my life. My birth mom abused me and put me in the hospital when I was only a few months old, she later abandoned me. I only heard from her at her convenience. My dad remarried, and I got an ‘over-control, anger-management-needing, mind-controlling, emotional-, physical-, and mental-abuser’ step-mom. Rock on dad! He was never around because he doesn’t like her so he works, well, then my perverted little brother starts sexually abusing me. The love of my life died. And I think I am losing my best friend. I am a stoner and a cutter. I relapsed on both and I honestly think I’m falling farther than I was before. I don’t exactly think I am ready to stop. If anyone wants to talk, e-mail me. Good luck to everyone.

Untitled

Copyright Tiffany

My name is Tiffany and I’m fourteen years old. I want to tell you about my self-harm. I started cutting when I was eleven years old, and I still do. The reason I cut myself is due to stress, sadness, being angry, frustrated or feeling shame. I know that this is not healthy but I feel comfort in it, and I look up to cutting when I’m in need. I got the idea of cutting from a TV show — Degrassi. I know it sounds like, well, why would you copy TV when it’s just acting, right? Later that night I was really upset and I decided to try it. Sitting in my bed, my eyes watering, the sharp point of scissors deep down in my skin, and the blood seeping through. I felt a little better after, because it took my mind off of my many other problems. Everyone seems to think ‘cutters’ have mental disabilities or do it mostly for attention. Well, you might start doing it for attention, but the more you do it the more your head or mind makes you think you’re addicted to cutting. I know that’s the way I feel. I always hid my cutting and feelings, the way I still do. To me my scissors are my family, and I talk to them through cutting. It may seem really crazy, but is true. Physically, I hide them by wearing long-sleeve shirts, even when the weather is very hot. My family now knows, and they are trying to help me. Honestly I don’t want or need help. If you have any questions or just want someone in your situation to talk to please feel free to e-mail me anytime.

Personal Story

Copyright Tiffany

This is my personal story. I started SI’ing when I was about thirteen. What originally brought it on was a fight with my dad. We were fighting, when I locked myself in the bathroom. The razors in the shaving razor were so pretty. I made one cut {which I still have a scar from} on the left side of my left wrist. The cutting continued after more fights with my dad. In all I had eleven scars on the left side of my left wrist. All of them from my dad minus two which were from problems with my (now ex) boyfriend. Then after telling my mom that I tried to run away (but came back), and that I wanted to cut. I ended up in an ambulance taking me to Sierra Vista hospital in Sacramento. There, they diagnosed me with bipolar type II. Being there really helped me, and I thought I was better, until I came back home. When I came back home, I found out that my dad had taken my laptop away. This severely pissed me off, so much so that I wrote on my bedroom door ‘Fuck the world’, then I proceeded to make two long cuts up and down on my left arm. Then one night I wanted to get high seeing as before the hospital my mom had found my weed stash. So I smashed up some 100mg of some depression med, and snorted it. Within a minute, I felt like I was dying, I literally lost contact with reality, I started having hallucinations, after some time I was better, but not until after I had made one long cut on my left calf.

Anyway to get to the point, I had eighteen cuts on my arms, who knows how many cuts on my hips, one cut on my leg. I have been put in short-term psychiatric facilities three times, two of those times resulted in me being sent hours away to a long-term hospital. The last time I cut was yesterday, Saturday, December 18th 2004. I cut ‘PAIN*IS*LOVE’ on my right arm. I was just in a hospital a few days ago for cutting over one hundred cuts on my left arm, and five cuts on my right arm + ‘LiFE SucKS’, and twenty cuts on my right hip. I plan to stop cutting as it is hurting my friends.

By the way… I feel for those who have been abused — physically, sexually and mentally — because I have been abused all of those ways.

To Die… or Not to Die…

Copyright Tiffany

This feels pointless to write.

It is not a story, poem or essay… but simply the state in which I’m suffering at this moment.

I cut myself on and off, regularly. I’ve always struggled with depression. I think I’m in love with somebody… he is still there for me, despite pain I’ve caused him, and yet, I’ve received mixed signals, and it is confirmed that we cannot be together again in that form as a couple. We still do things together, just the two of us… we still have physical relationships and care about eachother…but it still hurts just the same…

I don’t want to feel this way toward him… not now. He doesn’t want a relationship, as much as we care about eachother…

It just… hurts…

I tried to cut myself again… but it didn’t work. I was crying too hard and I was too fucking afraid to cut myself deep enough! Goddamn it! I’m so pissed at myself! I hate myself! I’m disgusted at myself! I’m sick of crying like this… alone! I’m always fucking alone! I wish I had the courage to kill myself already!

I’m so fucking lost… I don’t know what to do! This man… Eli… he was my first everything, and I only just met him last year. I am 19 now… and I just… I don’t know what to do…

I did this to myself though… it’s all my fucking fault!

But I deserve this then… but I don’t want to live anymore.

I get hot and cold… I keep turning the heat up and curling up under the blanket in my dark room, wanting to hide from the world. Then I get to warm and soon get cold and shiver. I want to sleep… yet I feel like this feeling of utter misery and pain is keeping me awake. I want to eat, but I have no cravings, and I’m hurting too much to give a damn about how empty my stomach feels at the moment. I want to do homework and get to bed for college classes tomorrow morning, but I feel to fucking depressed to go at all tomorrow. I already missed today… but I don’t care… I just want to stay home… I want the world to leave me alone…

I want to curl up in the dark, under my blanket in bed… I just want to cry… I just want to stay lost, cause even if I think I finally find “happiness” in life… it’ll disappear.

I don’t know what to do… I wish I had more courage to cut myself deeper, to stab myself in the heart with my special shard of broken glass that I keep just for myself. It comforts me to feel the slight stinging pain just under the surface of my skin after a cut, and then to watch the red bleed slowly to the surface. It comforts me… but I feel it isn’t enough… I want to see more blood. And yet… I’m too much of a coward to cut myself deeper. I want more blood… I want to hurt myself… kill myself…

I wish I were able to cut into the veins of my wrists, and slowly let myself bleed to death, my already pale skin turn ashy white… my last thoughts of my life and Eli… whom I fear I am in love with…

I hate my emotions… I hate love… I hate the world… I hate people… I hate myself…

I try to be strong, I try to push myself, I try to remind myself that nothing is perfect and that life is pain… but… I get so tired and worn out. I just want to let myself give up, so that the next time I trip and fall… I won’t have to get up.

I truly wish I could fall into a deep sleep… and never wake up, having died in my sleep…

I’m scared all the time, I feel so worn out and tired all the time… I wish Eli were here… he just knows how I feel and what to do about it, because he also suffers from clinical depression… he just… knows…

I wish I could fall asleep in his arms, and then die like that… and never wake up…

Just die in my sleep…

I feel so tired and worn out. I’ve been crying so much… I don’t want to think about tomorrow, I don’t want to think about anything.

This pain…

…if only I could die…

Untitled

Copyright Tiffany

Hi my name is Tiffany. I’m 17 years old and I’m a cutter. It is not as bad as it looks. I do it when I get mad and I think about it almost every day but I don’t let teachers know. When I get mad I keep it in without telling anybody and when I’m ready to get my pain away I cut myself.

Sincerely, Tiffany

 

Permanent location: http://www.psyke.org/personal/t/tiffany