My Dying Days

Copyright Tracey

It really started the summer after 8th grade graduation. I was really depressed. I lost everything. My life, my school, my friends who were all my family, really. I just didn’t know how to take it. So, I went to my room and blasted some music… then cut. They started very small. I thought they were deep though, since I was ‘new’ to this all. Luckily, my house has supplies for everything I do. I actually did it more than once a day. When I was ‘bored’ or just… anytime I actually felt anything I didn’t want to. It gradually started to wear off where I’d do it a few times a week, or once a night. It was like a ritual. One time every night I’d do it. It was bad, but not to the point of no return. I stopped for about a month, or maybe two months. I don’t really remember. I thought I was doing really good. Then high school became really depressing. The girls, the teachers, the work, it’s just so overwhelming. I just… sometimes I really think I’m not going to make it. Lately, I’ve been cutting extremly deep. It really doesn’t bother me. I aim for deep. That’s what I work for when I cut. I’m not proud of my cuts, but I think my scars define my life. It might be the saddest story… my life, but it’s mine. I don’t encourage cutting. It takes over and destroys your life. Eventually leading you to thoughts that you shouldn’t have. Like mine, lately. The worst part is that these thoughts are so tempting. It’s like I zone out and go to where I’m commiting suicide. I keep trying to tell myself of all the bad things if I actually do it, but the options keep getting smaller and smaller. So there’s only one thing to ask. What do you do when there’s nothing left to live for?


Copyright Tracey

I’m Tracey, I don’t know why really I’m writing here because I don’t really have a story. All I have is that I self harm. I don’t really know why I turned to self harm. I always used to give myself Chinese burns or chicken scratches or whatever you want to call them. I would just keep scratching at my arm saying to myself ‘let’s reach a hundred, let’s reach two hundred’ and keep going until my arm was filled with blood. But when my problems grew and grew I decided to try more. So when I would shave I would use the razor going right to left. Left to right. But eventually I grew out of that and got scissors and cut the razor blade out of the actual razor body and would sit in my room and cut and cut and cut even if I had no reason. I still do it to this day. Last year just a week before getting off school for summer my mum found out, she made me promise to stop so I did. She thought it would be that easy but it just wasn’t. And I had to do it again. I hid razors for a while so I used broken parts of a mirror. Mum always made jokes calling me slasher. Right to this day she thinks I’ve stopped. But I still do it and I’m always petrified in case she finds out. I really wish one of my mates knew. If only they could read, this but of course they won’t. I know that. Because they don’t even suspect that I could cut so it’s mad for me to think they’d even come to this website, never mind even heard of it. What the point in this really is that I feel alone. I cant talk to any of my family or my friends. I’d be too scared to admit to a friend that I cut. They are really a nice bunch of mates but I just know they wouldn’t be the types to understand.


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