Hello All

So, my name is Megan, and this is my first post here.
I’m sixteen and have been self harming on and off for the past three years, and I tried to kill myself three years ago. My best friend and my sister’s friend are the only people that know about my suicide attempt.
When I was thirteen, I self harmed for the first time. I remember it quite distinctly, because it was the start of a long, dark road. It was barely a scratch the first time. I used a pair of compasses that I found in my school bag, and I cried immediately after doing it, because I felt so guilty.
I guess I did it because I felt unhappy, and I’d heard people talking about self harm as a way of coping, and I thought it might help me cope.
But it didn’t, so I stopped after one scratch and vowed that I wouldn’t do it again.
Fast-forward a few months, and I tried to kill myself. There had been a huge argument, and I was told that everything was my fault, and that I ‘always ruined everything’. This wasn’t the first time that I’d been accused of these things, and I just decided to give up. I was fucking sick and tired of being made to feel like shit in my own home by the people that were meant to care about me.
My mum and my sisters had left the house, so I decided that I would do it. I tied a suitcase strap to the top of my sisters’ bunkbeds and put the looped end around my neck. I didn’t leave a note, because at the time I didn’t know that that’s what people did. As the strap tightened around my neck and I struggled to breathe, it hit me. I didn’t want to die. I was thirteen years old, and I had so much more to live for.
I managed to swing my legs on to the bottom bunk and hold on to that while I undid the strap from round my neck.
I was kind of disgusted with myself because I nearly did it, but at the same time, I was terrified because I nearly did it. To this day, my family don’t know that I tried to kill myself.
I started self harming pretty soon after that. At first, it was only at the top of my forearm, by my elbow, because I didn’t want to accidentally catch a vein. But, as time went on, I stopped caring. I cut as close to the veins as I could, and didn’t really give a shit about catching them amymore. I never did catch the veins, but the scars on my arms are pretty noticeable now.
My mum found out about my self-harming on my arms, so I had to stop. Or so she thought.
I moved on to my thighs, and cut significantly deeper than I did on my arms, so they’re scarred as well.
I’ve had to be careful recently, because my sister self harms and the school found out and told my mum, so we’re both on self harm watch.
I’ve moved on to cutting on my stomach, but I’d like to be able to stop cutting altogether. Hopefully that’ll happen one day, but not any time soon, I don’t think. And although I haven’t tried it in three years, I still have suicidal thoughts all the time. Hopefully they’ll stop one day as well. But for now, I’ll deal with it the best I can.
So that’s my story, I figured it was a good place to start.
Ciao guys 🙂