I can still remember the first time I cut, almost as if it had just happened yesterday. I was only 15 years old at the time, which, looking back, seems way too young for me to have started what became such a horrible and humiliating habit.
At A Glance Author anonymous When Two years ago I was the kind of girl that everyone expected to live out a good life. I had good parents who loved me, and who sincerely had my best interests in mind. I had good friends, I got good grades, I was a genuinely happy person.
However, there was one point in my life when I was around the age of 13 where I strayed from that path. Life as it was for me seemed extremely boring, and at such a vulnerable age, I was willing to try anything.
A mutual friend of mine began taking me out. I thought it was the best thing to ever happen to me.Things started out innocent enough, but soon I found myself drinking frequently, doing drugs, and being extremely promiscuous. I soon found myself in a community of people that no 13 year old girl should ever be associated with. Drug dealers were my best friends. I'd rather spend my time with a crack addict than with my own mother. But for me, it was just something new and interesting.
However, that feeling faded rather quickly. Soon the idea of fun was replaced with the idea of fear. I became extremely paranoid, as did some of my friends. It wasn't innocent anymore.
Things all took an ugly turn the night that one of my best friends took her own life after battling an addiction to ecstasy for over a year, and my boyfriend at the time abandoned me because of his own drug addiction. Seeing drugs destroy my friends' lives like that made me realize that I didn't want to end up the same way. I cut off all ties from all of my friends, and I promised myself I would never get back into it again.
And I didn't. Things went really well for about a year, maybe two. Getting out of that lifestyle wasn't hard for me at all. No one I knew had access to drugs or alcohol, and my new friends thought that a kiss on the lips was promiscuous. I had almost completely forgotten about my old life, but that's when I met Xander.
Xander was a friend of a friend, and we hit it off right away. He was one of those people that you just sort of click with immediately. He was nice, funny, and had so much energy and character. Soon, Xander and I began dating.
I became extremely attached to Xander very quickly, and in the beginning of our relationship, he seemed really average. But the more that I got to know Xander, the more I found out about his real life. He was failing school, and planned to drop out. His father was abusive. And he was also pretty heavily into drugs and alcohol. This shocked me. I couldn't seem to figure out how I had found this person, or how this person had found me. This was the kind of person I had worked so hard to take out of my life. But here he is.
I was shocked. The turning point was getting an email from him at 11:00 at night telling me that he was high and that he didn't want to go to school and that he didn't care about anything anymore.
His email filled me with so many mixed emotions. I was upset and angry at him for making such poor choices.....I was upset and angry at myself for always seeming to be attracted to these kind of people.....but most of all I was jealous. This was the emotion that bothered me the most. I had worked SO hard to get out of drugs. But deep down inside, I felt this burning desire to start up again. I was infuriated that HE had the luxury of smoking, and I didn't. All these feelings sent me into a kind of mental blank.
I went into my bedroom and brought out my pocket knife. I didn't know what I was doing exactly, or why I was doing it...But something inside of me told me I HAD to. I slowly grazed it over my skin. Just the touch of the knife made me uneasy. I wanted to stop right there, but something inside me told me not to. I pushed the knife down on my skin. Nothing. I pushed harder. Still nothing. It began to hurt. I pushed it as hard as I could. Finally, a small trickle of blood ran down my arm. It made me feel a little bit better. I got out a few sewing needles from my mom's sewing box. I jabbed them all into my arm. It made me feel even more better. Suddenly, I went crazy. I stabbed pins into my arm, I ripped open the sides of my wrist with the knife, I clawed at my skin with my fingernails. I finally felt satisfied.
The next day at school was difficult. I instantly regretted what I had done. My best friend cried and told me how wrong it was. It hurt me to see the tears on her face. I begged her not to tell Xander, but she did anyways. When he found out, he became very upset. He broke down, looked at my arm, and told me that he couldn't live with himself if something like this happened again. He said he had never felt guiltier, and that he couldn't even look at my arm, at what I had done to myself because of him.
That was the day we made our promise. Neither of us would ever do drugs again. And to this day, we have both kept it. In fact, Xander and I are still together and both of us are very happy.
As for cutting, I still secretly practice it occasionally. Whenever I become upset, or feel like I need to turn to drugs or alcohol to solve my problems, I'll just make a little notch inside of my wrist. It helps me feel better, although I am somewhat guilty to admit that.
Usually, I really wish that I didn't cut. My arms aren't pretty anymore, they're covered in light little scars from my little habit. I don't like them. I wish that I could find another way to deal with my problems, but for now, this is all I have. Like the title of my story says, Bad Habits don't die.