My Cutting Story

May 2, 2017
By ,

I used to be a cutter. The first time I ever did it was a couple days before 5th grade. I was 10 years old. I was playing around with my mom's sewing kit, and I found something shiny, which I later learned was a razor. I picked it up, and accidentally cut through the skin on the pads of my fingers. The pain felt soothing, and it helped me forget all of the other pain going on in my life at the moment, so I added matching cuts to all 10 of my fingers. They weren't deep, so no one noticed in school. In 5th grade, I was severely bullied. Why? Because I had a crush on more than one guy. Every single day, people would tell me I'm worthless, I'm a s***, no one would ever love me. I was going through so much and I had no close friends to confide in, because everyone hated me. So, on September 7th, 2013, I made my first cut intended to block out the pain. I remember that day so well. I was crying a storm, and I took my dad's razor. I still have that scar to this day because I went really deep. I painted with silver but it came out red. Every single day, after school, I would add exactly 3 lines onto my thighs/arms. I wasnt allowed to wear shorts, so no one would ever see, and I didn't like wearing short sleeves in general. People started bullying me for more things. I was fat, ugly, a freak, a s***, and so many more names I don't want to relive. In addition, my sister would say everybody wants me dead. She still says that today. My parents were going through their own problems, so they ever noticed me but th y noticed my sister. That's when the suicidal thoughts started seeping through. This was my life in 5th and 6th grade. Actually, in 6th grade, I became friends with my fresh that I was bullied for liking. He wrote me a note, and I remember what it said to this day. "You are beautiful and God gave you this body so others can envy you. Don't ruin perfection by hutting yourself. It is not worth it". And then he went to call me all the names I mentioned above, and much more, from that point to now. I never wanted to commit suicide more. I was a mess. I would fantasize about how I would kill myself. I tried 7 times, but I stopped, thinking "Someone will miss me". In 7th grade, things got better. I didn't cut daily anymore, only when I needed it to block out the pain of being alive. I made this one friend, who encouraged me to stop. And I did. On April 4th, 2016, at 9:17 pm I stopped. For 263 days. On December 23rd, 2016, I relapsed. I've been on and off since then, my longest amount of time not cutting being 35 days. On April 30th, 2017, I relapsed more violently than December's. I became friends with somebody who cared for me, and I told him immediately because he was always there. I made a deal with him. I would start thinking more positively, I wouldn't cut, whenever I had suicidal thoughts I would tell him, for 6 months. Today is May 2nd, 2017, and I believe in myself. My parents are divorced, my sister still says I am better off dead, I am still bullied, but I am stronger now. I have supportive friends. My scars are a part of my past. And my past does not define me. I am 13 years old, and in 8th grade. I can do this. I will win this fight against myself.

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