So I have been kinda down lately. I started writing in a journal again to help me with my english project and memories began spilling out. I’m 16 years old, and I have been a cutter since i was 12. It has never been much, nothing too serious, but it scars. I would always get in trouble with my parents, they would yell and scream about everything. Lots of times they would scream at each other and lots of times at me. It was cause I failed my test, or screwed up again or wasn’t good enough or was annoying. I’m never good enough. I’m always a failure. I used to get spankings, but those soon spread to be full body spankings. SoÂ many slaps and punches, hair being yanked hard enough to sting, we used to throw punches and I have been slapped to the floor. Only a few times though. Probably less than 10. I remember my dad smacking my face so hard for trying to run away that my tooth chipped. He gave me a fat lip once cause I wrote something mean to my mother so he decided to chase me down the stairs and beat me up in the corner. But this brings me to my questions. Was it really beating? The only mark was a fat lip, or so my mom said. I am lucky enough that my parents love me and pay for me but it’s so weird. Sometimes they’re amazing and sometimes they hurt me more than anything in the world. They alwasy apologize and say they won’t do it again, but they’ll be back at it in a couple weeks. I remember last Novermber, when I told my dad I had a boyfriend a couple states away, he did not listen to anything I said about him, he just screamed at me. For FOUR HOURS STRAIGHT. When he’s angry he can yell and scream all day. He puts me and my mother down and says I have no backbone but later he says I am amazing. Do I forgive him for the other things he has done to me? I forgave him only a couple days after he beat me up in 6th grade, but was that right? I know forgiving is good, but I wonder, can you forgive too quickly? Is it not okay to forgive sometimes? Please help me with this, I don’t know… My life is not as fucked up as other people’s, but it doesn’t leave me any less confused. I used to get so sad that the only thing that could relieve it was to cut my arm until the blood flowed. The first time I did it I thought it was beautiful. Red lines on my armes made me feel pretty, I liked the blood. In 7th and 8th grade I thought of suicide all the time, and earlier this year I was thinking how easy it would be to put a gun to my head and pull the trigger. It would be so easy. I think I could do it. In 9th grade I didn’t cut all year but at the end of the year I started again. This time I cut because I was so angry. Everything around me would blur and I woudl just keep beating my skin with the knife until blood flowed and jumped up on the knife. I have never liked to get angry or hurt others, so I would just hurt myself. My wonderful boyfriend that my father doesn’t even know the name of, the same one he screamed about, has been trying to get me to stop. But I can’t really.Â I like that blood. I like seeing the blood now. I just started to see someone, maybe it’ll help, but how can it make me think differently? I know this is a completely unimportant post, but I just really wanted to say it because maybe someone out there will read it now. Maybe someone will know at least a bit of my life.