Okay, so cutting has always been a part of me, well, I should actually say since i was in sixth grade (I'm not exactly sure how old that is).
At A Glance Author Lizabeth J. Contact Lizabeth J.@bme.anon When N/A
Sixth grade was hell. I wasn't exactly used to all the new stresses coming my way (even though it was May when i started). Something just, went wrong, I'm not exactly sure, but i realized i didn't really want to live anymore. So, I decided to try to hang myself, and, after seeing that it just wasn't worth it (I of course, want a family), so I stopped when I started gasping for breath. That's also, when my mom found out about everything, from bruises around my neck, to finding all the empty bottles of pills lying around. She took me to, as I like to call it, the "mental hospital" and I stayed there for two weeks and visited a therapist 2x a day. Then, I thought i was better.
Skipping to August of that year...
My best friend's dad died, and she had to move with her mom in Virginia, I knew I was extremely sad, but also THOUGHT that I would be okay with everything, turns out I was wrong. So, for the next two years, I kept all the pain, just being sad, and desire to have her back, locked up inside of me.
Skipping through time once again, to September, 2004...
The start of High School, exciting, and turning out to be a nice clean slate to my horrible Middle School past. By the end of September, however, I was so caught up in stress, and I'm still, to this day, not quite sure why I exactly started, but I began cutting. As I realized how much the pain was more of a pleasure for me, my mom got a little worried and took me straight to a new therapist (her name will not be enclosed). When they both realized that the cuts weren't at all that deep (was about thirty cuts, a little deeper than cat scratches), they realized I didn't need to be on any depression medication, and both decided that I should remain seeing this therapist until I was, as I like to call it, "healed".
Now, usually I don't talk to the person who moved to Virginia back in the sixth grade, but, for some odd reason, she called me one day in December. She was crying about her dad and I just couldn't take listening to one of the people I care for the most, crying and being hurt. So, after she told me about her problems, I decided to tell her how I began cutting, and how much I enjoyed the pain and what calmness it brought to the world around me. As soon as I told her that, she claimed she, "also cuts", which I highly doubt because she faints at the sight of blood on ANYONE or ANYTHING. As soon as that, unreal, conversation was over, I started crying uncontrollably for a good two hours straight, and then I decided the only way to heal this pain was to cut. So I cut three, semi-deep, lines in my arm. The pain was instantly gone.
Around the end of February my mom was having problems with her boyfriend, and I, being her daughter that she usually comes to with her should I's and shouldn't I's, wanted to help, but she wouldn't let me for some strange reason this time. It was getting me a little pissed off, because I don't want to see my mom sad, like any other child out there. So I went into the bathroom and cut a, pretty long, zig-zag line over old cuts, and just plain making a new cut. It didn't take away as much pain as I wanted it to, so I then carved the word HELP into my left ankle. Doing that extra cut really helped my pain disappear.
Skipping up to two weeks ago (End of April, 2005)...
I was feeling a little down, and started crying uncontrollably for 5 hours straight, until I realized why I was doing this. It was because of how bad I missed Tiffany and pictures of us together, happy, were spread out all over my wall. I just couldn't take the crying anymore, so i carved I MISS H in my wrist (I didn't finish the HER part). I then finished my undone work with a straight cut across my wrist by the beginning of it.
Last week, she again, called me crying about her dad. This time I just simply asked many questions on what made her exactly take his death, once again, to this level, she wasn't quite sure. But, I decided I couldn't talk to her anymore, it just hurt way too much, and I told her I had to finish homework. About a half a box of kleenex later, and a half hour's worth of crying, I called my dad and chatted with him for a bit (hoping it would cheer me up a little). Needless to say, it didn't, and I was a little disappointed. So I then cut three vertical cuts next to, and over, the I MISS H. I must've hit the vein pretty hard (they were, after all, pretty deep) because it wouldn't stop bleeding for 1/2 hour straight. I know that's a lot of blood loss too.
The next day a teacher saw the cuts during Ceramics (total accident, I'm not one of those people that shows those things off) and reported me to the school's psychologist. Within 5 minutes, I was sitting in her room listening to her asking me a bunch of questions that I was to answer. One of which was, "do you really want to commit suicide?" That being the easiest thing to answer, she didn't like the fact that I said no, it's just to relieve pain. I'm not really sure why she didn't like that answer, but now she's calling my therapist and telling her that we need to talk about it.
So, to end this, I'm just going to say, cutting is a great way to relieve MY pain (I wouldn't really recommend it), and I'm not trying to commit suicide (no matter what everyone is trying to tell me). If you are, by any means, going to cut, think first long and hard like I do, and if you still feel the need to, make sure you have a way of covering them up, and trust me, make sure you don't have a class where you need to roll up your sleeves! (As in my Ceramics class)
Please, just don't cut, period.