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| Post Info | TOPIC: Just wanted to tell my story. |
| Posted By: Sarah Posted On: Apr 30, 2003 Views: 508 | Just wanted to tell my story. I started cutting myself when I was 13 (8th grade)with a blue bic razor, at that time I didn't know you could or how to take one apart so I would just take it and furociously scratch up my wrists with it. Then I met a girl and she used to take an eraser and erase her skin; basically rub it against her skin so hard it burned off her skin. So I started doing the same thing on my hands. Then when I got into High School I learned how to take apart a razor and I started cutting my legs. After Senior year I started dating someone and I hadn't cut myself for 8 months while we dated then little things in my life seemed to be going wrong or what I thought was the world crumbling before me so I started cutting myself. He knew my past and when he saw new cuts he started asking questions and wanted to help. I told him it was a one time thing, I slipped up and it wouldn't happen again but I couldn't stop so I ended up breaking up with him to spare him my misery. After I had to give up the one true stable and wonderful thing in my life I started doing other things to make myself feel better. I became promiscuous, looking for anyone who would give me attention. I used alcohol to drown away my fear. And I used a razor to make the pain in my heart go away. One evening with alcohol in my system and a party going on I silently went into my bedroom and sliced my wrists (both of them) so deep that it wouldn't stop bleeding, I thought I was surely going to die. I decided I was okay with that and I passed out on my bed in my own blood. When I woke up in the morning I had mixed feelings of disgust that I hadn't died, yet relief that I lived. When I sat up in bed and looked at my wrists it was horrific, I had even cut my right wrist so deep that I cut a nerve and can no longer feel my ring finger and pinky finger. The blood stain on my bed was the size of a large t-shirt. I should have died and now I look at that as a sign that I was supposed to live. There was a reason I lived, I'm still not sure what the purpose of my life is but I do know that something saved me that night. I still cut myself every so often, maybe once a month or less. I guess that was a sort of wake up call. I've always been creative so I've always kept a journal, I draw and paint and I watch a movie or TV or listen to music to get away from it all instead of cutting myself, I also think of my Mother who means the world to me and I think about what she would think if she found me dead and it makes me realize I can overcome my emotional pain without causing myself physical pain. I would also like to add that unlike alot of you I always cried, everytime I cut myself. Also alot of people knew I cut myself, my friends and family and they never said anything to me and they never sought help for me. My Dad notices every once in awhile and asks me what happened, if he sees a scar on my leg or wrist, I just tell him it was an accident while cooking or I slipped in the shower while shaving. My Mom has also noticed and asked me about it too but we have an unspoken understanding that we don't talk about it. She knows and I know she knows and I'm glad she knows. We almost have a code now Ex: When I have a good day I tell her that everything's okay, and when I'm having a bad day and she notices she asks me if I'll be okay and I tell her I'm not sure, she knows that's her signal that I might hurt myself and she hugs me and says great things to me and I don't hurt anymore. It's when she's not around and I'm feeling down that I cut myself now and that's also why it doesn't happen so often anymore. I just wanted to share my story, I'm not looking for any type of reply...I've just never talked about it before and I stumbled upon this site and now I honestly feel like there's a little weight lifted off my shoulders. This is a great site and I hope all of you will feel better soon without giving yourself self-inflicted pain. |