My parents found out that I self-harm. I do not like the words cut or cutter. When I hear someone described as a cutter it seems like they are just an attention seeker or something.

My parents ask me why I do this, why I cut and scratch and burn my body. I have no reason. I’ve thought long and hard about it, it started too long ago to remember.

I tell them that I don’t know. Because I don’t. I can’t remember. I’ve been stuck in this pit for so long that it’s so comfortable. There is a nice rut where I always sit.

I have moments where nothing matters. I become bratty and rude and I can’t stop. It’s not my fault. Nothing is.

I have therapy every Thursday. I think it helps. I feel okay afterwards. But it doesn’t last. That night I go to bed, and when I wake up it’s like I’m worse than how I was.

I’m a disappointment. Because I don’t like sports. I like music. I like art and writing. I’m not very good at either though.

I just want people to forget about me.

 My father tells me that because I don’t have a reason, I must just cut for attention. I’m just an attention w****.

He tells me that if I went on a diet of only water. I could last for two years. I am fat. I know that though.