I started cutting again. I stopped for a while but started again and it feels like it’s going to get worse. I’m so tired.
Four o’clock in the afternoon and I didn’t feel like very much
I said to myself, ”Where are you golden boy? Where is your famous golden touch?”
I thought you knew where all of the elephants lie down
I thought you were the crown prince of all the wheels in Ivory town
Just take a look at your body now, there’s nothing much to save
And a bitter voice in the mirror cries, ”Hey, prince, you need a shave”
Now if you can manage to get your trembling fingers to behave
Why don’t you try unwrapping a stainless steel razor blade?
That’s right, it’s come to this… Yes, it’s come to this…
And wasn’t it a long way down… Wasn’t it a strange way down…
There’s no hot water and the cold is running thin
Well, what do you expect from the kind of places you’ve been living in?
Don’t drink from that cup, it’s all caked and and cracked along the rim
That’s not the electric light, my friend, that is your vision growing dim
Cover up your face with soap, there, now you’re Santa Claus
And you’ve got a gift for anyone who will give you his applause
I thought you were a racing man, but you couldn’t take the pace
That’s a funeral in the mirror and it’s stopping at your face
That’s right, it’s come to this… Yes, it’s come to this…
And wasn’t it a long way down… Wasn’t it a strange way down…
Once there was a path and a girl with chestnut hair
And you passed the summers picking all of the berries that grew there
There were times she was a woman, there were times she was just a child
And you held her in the shadows, where the raspberries grow wild
And you climbed the twilight mountains and you sang about the view
And everywhere that you wandered, love seemed to go along with you
That’s a hard one to remember, yes, it makes you clench your fist
And then the veins stand out like highways, all along your wrist
And yes, it’s come to this… It’s come to this…
And wasn’t it a long way down… Wasn’t it a strange way down…
You can still find a job, go out and talk to a friend
On the back of every magazine, there are those coupons you can send
Why don’t you join the Rosicrucians? They will give you back your hope…
You can find your love with diagrams on a plain brown envelope
But you’ve used up all your coupons, except the one that seems
To be written on your wrist, along with several thousand dreams
Now Santa Claus comes forward, that’s a razor in his mitt
And he puts on his dark glasses and he shows you where to hit
And then the cameras pan, the stand-in stuntman
Dress rehearsal rag… It’s just the dress rehearsal rag…
You know, this dress rehearsal rag… It’s just a dress rehearsal rag…
Please, if you are considering self-harm or are currently self-harming, please quit.
Let me be an example, a warning to you all.
When I first started, it was a tiny little cut on my thigh, made merely to see how it’d feel- and I can’t lie, it was exhilarating to me. I was thirteen at the time and was enduring copious amounts of abuse from my parents, both physical and verbal, which had been occurring since childhood. It was a strain to my psyche and after that first cut, for once in my life, I felt like I was able to deal with all the pain that I was suffering.
If only I knew what I know now, if only I knew how much that first cut would destroy me.
I’d cut when I was sad, cut to punish myself, cut when I hated myself. In any time of distress, I would cut.
From that moment forward, it became everything I relied on; a coping mechanism that was there when I needed it and even when I didn’t. I carried razor blades to school, there were several occasions in which they were confiscated by the campus psychologist, as well as times my backpack needed to be checked.
Of course, with all this commotion, word eventually got out to my parents. On multiple occasions they were contacted but there will always be that one night that has stayed with me the most: my brothers and I all sitting at the dinner table as my mother yelled at me, her exact words being, “Why do you cut yourself? You should just kill yourself instead.” It was a painful experience, but I digress.
Self-mutilation became all that I knew. I had severe depression at the time, and whenever I felt particularly horrendous, I’d bleed out my feelings, spilling all the darkness that resided within me. It was at my lowest point, the winter of eighth grade, in which I was ready for my own death, that I was hospitalized. Sent to an institution to recover, to overcome my harmful thoughts and behaviors- only I didn’t.
Even in a psychiatric institution, I still found a method in which I could cut. When there’s a will, there’s a way, right? I remember after every meal, the staff would count all the plastic cutlery in order to make sure that no one had stolen one as it could later be transformed into a weapon of self-mutilation. Two other girls and I were secretly hurting ourselves and god, the day that one of them exposed herself as well as her friend for cutting, I was terrified, in fear of myself being revealed as well. They shared a room together, and so naturally, they were separated.
I watched as the orderlies stripped the girl’s bed, all the while investigating for any sharp objects that were hidden. I was safe that day as well as every day onward that I spent inside the hospital. The staff never found out about my self-harm.
Sometimes, I wish they did.
As I entered high school, the severity of my cuts only began to magnify, along with the numbers. The deeper it got, the more it worsened. I adopted the mindset (which I still posses) the deeper, the better. Thin, shallow cuts made me weak, made me fucking horrendous. I wasn’t good enough. I was only successful if I made it deep.
I also joined an online community in which users would post photo accounts of their self-harm. Being able to have access to and view the cuts of others pushed me to worsen my cuts as well. The general consensus: the deeper, the better. We are by no means a pro self-harm community, we do not encourage others to cut, but our fragile state of mind has made us vie for the lacerations that are deepest.
I made my account only to watch how my self-inflicted cuts transform over time, to watch as my cuts become deeper and bigger and the space of unmarked skin become more smaller. I didn’t make it for attention. I mean, it’s not as if I cut solely to upload to the internet. It’s never been that way and it never will be. When I feel bad and I cut, I simply photo document the lacerations so that I will have the opportunity to look back on it.
I have over a thousand followers on the account.
I am seventeen in two days. My worst cut was two months ago. I’ve cut on one occasion since then. It was awful, a bit traumatic if you ask me. Of course I’ve gone deep before, looking at my scarred body can prove that for a fact, but it was the first time I sliced into my skin that deep. The entire cut had hit the fat layer; it was a sight to see. I watched in a trance-like state as my blood left my body, in shock at the sheer size of the gaping laceration in my wrist.
It was only until I wiped away the blood that I noticed a dark blue vein inside. I didn’t puncture it, but god, how I wanted to.
So what’s the point of all this writing? As I stated earlier, let me be a warning to you, a precautionary tale. There was a time when I looked at others in shock, telling myself I’d never become like them, telling myself I could control the severity of my self-mutilation.
I was a fool to believe so.
I have destroyed myself in my attempts to cope with my difficulties. Hundreds, and I do mean hundreds, of scars litter my body. Since most of my cuts are deep, I have raised scars. They’re ugly to look at and turn a violent purple when I’m cold. There’s a patch on my wrist that is entirely scar tissue. My scars randomly hurt and ache in the worst way, sometimes for up to half an hour.
I do not take pride in my body or myself because it extremely difficult to find beauty in anything as mutilated and destroyed as I am.
My scars affect my day-to-day life along with my interactions with others. I have received nasty comments, rude stares, been made fun of, and asked invasive questions. It isn’t what I want to live with but now it’s what I’m stuck with.
In addition, finding the strength not to hurt myself is a tough challenge. After becoming so acclimated to resorting to slicing my skin open with anything negative that I encounter, dealing with my issues safe and positively is hard. It’s especially exhausting when I’m stuck in a pit of self-despise for ruining my body, which makes me desire cutting as a form of punishment but is entirely counterintuitive as it was the problem that arose in the first place.
Cutting isn’t anything beautiful and it certainly anything that you want to adopt. It will ruin you.
So please, if you’ve made it this far, consider all that I’ve told you. Consider my experiences and who I am now. Understand that it is not how you want to live.
Please, if you are cutting or considering cutting, please don’t.
Why has it gotten to this point? I have waited so long but the last one is broken.
The last one has spoken words to me that verify my twisted thoughts.
My presence causes pain and suffering. It has caused this one even more than it has myself.
Why has it gotten to this point?
Is it my fault? I believe it is, but the voice within says it could be my doing and that of my existence as well.
I wish I could bring good news, I truly do, but I hold only sorrow.
Perhaps one day there will be good news.
I have not hoped for this to occur but it can’t be help. What can I do to change this? Nothing? Really?
One day, I say to myself, one day it will all be over.
One day I shall close my eyes in death and it will all be over.
I shall shut my eyes and I shall feed the earth.
Flowers and trees shall grow from my ashes.
That day, I shall finally be doing good to the earth.
This I promise you.
Do not worry for me but know this, in you I see hope and much more to give to the world.
Carry on, life may not be fair but you can survive. You have definitely survived this much
i hate my life.
i’m in my last year of high school and all the pressure is on me.
i have to get into a good university to get a degree to get a job and make lots of money for my family.
my mum is mad because my younger brother is pretty “dumb”. Teachers say he’s work doing work or paying attention in class. So my mum is worried that he’s gonna fail school.
she was ranting as usual, but today was worse. She asked me “haven’t got homework?” I said “it’s the weekend” she just ignored me and continued saying “instead of watching that stupid show”.
i guess she hinted at me that I have to do well in school otherwise my family is done for.
yesterday i was explaining how we write English essays at school. Bad mistake.
as much as I want to die. I can’t. …doesn’t stop me from cutting though.
There are many times in the past I’ve wanted to cut, to hurt myself… But I didn’t. Because I’m afraid.
Now I cut, I slashes across my skin to creat scars… But now I’m afraid of what would become of me… What would my future be.
I’m such a coward… Afraid of everything, I don’t even dare to go deeper with my razor… Only because I’m afraid, of being found out, and afraid of the unknown amount of pain… Waiting for me in the future.
I’m scared of pain… But I love pain.
I’m scared of blood, but I’m fascinated by it.
I’m such a coward.
It’s just two days ago… I cut myself on my own right wrist. And today, there are over 20 cuts on each of my wrists.
Wow… it has been over three years since I have been on this site. I found a new site I have been posting on more recently called inkvite. But I would like to take a step back and tell you my story…
As a child I had extremely bad separation anxiety but none of my doctors ever believed my mom. As I got old my mom noticed characteristics of ADD/ADHD in me and she tried to get me tested but no one would test me. She eventually gave up her fight.
As a middle schooler things started getting bad. I was always picked on and bullied. It was seventh grade, when I started to crave attention. I was gymnast at this time, but I really just used it as an excuse when I began to break my bones on purpose. I just wanted to fit in. I enjoyed the pain I put myself through. But that’s also when rumors and name calling got worse. Rumors like: she does it on purpose or she just wants attention. Names like: cripple, attention whore, fake, faker, or criplet. That year my sister made it public that she was a lesbian, so people started calling me gay because I hung out with this other girl so much. Even though the rumor wasn’t true it still got under my skin. I started drinking, smoking, and getting high every now and then with her. My grades started dropping and my mind never stopped thinking. That summer was good and had a lot of good memories. Then eighth grade started and it seemed like everyone remembered rumors and got a new vocabulary. They started to call me names like drama queen, fat, whore, *****, slut, brat, hoe, spoiled, attention whore, and anorexic. My dad began verbally abusing me and I would never tell my mom what I was going through. I bottled everything inside and somehow I had to make the pain go away and that’s when I began to cut. Soon enough it kept going and I was thinking about suicide. Well sure enough it was that day, but my attempt failed because my cousin realized that I wasn’t okay. When I went to school the next day I felt as though everyone could see through my fake smile. I cried in the bathroom stalls, praying for help, and screaming inside; but no one saw that. The only person they saw was an attention seeking, drama queen, who always over reacted. I stopped eating, I wasn’t comfortable in my own skin anymore. I even passed out a couple times at school due to starvation and dehydration. My grades kept sinking and nothing was going right. And then it was summer and I stopped my bad habits of drinking, smoking, and getting high. I got closer to God that summer but it seems all a dream now.
When high school began first semester was great and I met new friends and dropped bad friends. During second semester I started hearing more and more rumors again. Now bullying had gone from just verbal to physical. So then the cutting started again and it became an addiction because I couldn’t stop I had to cut every day the voices would tell me. One day school was so bad, I took scissors to the bathroom and cut six times. My best friend at the time Brittany, knew I had been crying and when she saw me in class she slammed her hands down on my desk and said “Alright whose ass do I need to kick”. I just laughed, a real laugh that I hadn’t heard in a while, and shook my head. This actually ended up saving my life that night.
It was summer again and everything was well until my “friend” Rebekah texted me and told me we couldn’t be friends anymore. It tore me apart. I got my gun I had hidden under my bed, I placed it up against my temple, and pulled the trigger. The gun wasn’t loaded. Later that summer I found out it was a dare and she actually followed through with it. She apologized and I forgave her. But we haven’t talked since.
In tenth grade everything started out okay, until drama started. I honestly can’t even remember exactly what it was about but I know it lead me to terrible things. I didn’t eat for weeks. I lied to my parents told them I ate lunch, but I would purge after dinner. I got a boyfriend… His name was Trey. I thought he was a good guy until he began sexually, physically, and verbally abusing me. My cousin actually broke up with him through a text message for me because I was so afraid of him. At the time we broke up I was talking to another guy his name was Nick. I screwed up my relationship with my family because no one ever told me he had actually dated my cousin. And turns out my whole family still thinks I broke up with Trey for Nick, which was not the case but yet I couldn’t tell them the truth. I told my mom I was cutting only because my Trey threatened to tell her if I didn’t get back together with him. I broke her heart down to tiny pieces, the one thing you never want to hear your mother say is “I’m not a good mother to my daughters.” She blamed herself for my sister and I’s decisions we made. She sent me to a counselor and the counselor helped some and she also sent me to a nutritionist whom I hated, that diagnosed me with anorexia. I was diagnosed and put on medication for depression and anxiety by my psychologist. I started cheering at a local all star gym and I had stopped cutting for a month. Then my mom and I started fighting, arguing, not seeing eye to eye. It was to the point I wanted to move out of that house or just die. We were on a family vacation at Disney World in Florida, that is when my dad hit me and my mom saw it. But this wasn’t the first time it had happened, it was only the first time my mom knew about. I thought my family was going to be torn apart, I knew it would be my fault, and I was scared. I kept the past abuse a secret from everyone. But I met a girl that was a little older than me, she was actually considered a coach at the gym. But one night she decided to message me on Twitter because my tweets sounded upsetting and she wanted to check on me. She changed my life. She’s always called me her lil and she will forever be my big. We share many unforgettable memories together and we are always there for each other. But things got bad and I started cutting again, not eating again, and was sent to Cone Behavioral Health Center and was kept there for the weekend. Once I was released and able to cheer again that is what I did.
I then got another boyfriend, Josh, a preacher’s kid. I met him through his sister because his sister and I cheered together. I thought I was head over heels for him until he began to treat me as a sex toy. So I felt not good enough, not pretty or perfect enough for him to actually care for. I stopped eating again, I was rushed to the hospital due to lack of nourishment and dehydration. He came to see me in the hospital, but he left when I had to stay over night. We got into a fight because my parents found out we were having sex, and that was it. I lost him and my “little sister” at the same time. My parents were still fighting with me, but I was doing well only cutting every now and then. Thanks to my “big” for helping me, supporting me, and loving me through all the ups and downs.
That summer I did some things I really regret because I think back to them and all I want to do is go back and never let them happen but I can’t. My cousin and I started to have feelings for each other… and it all started the day he jokingly smacked my butt. Things escalated from there, but we never had sex. We were at my Nana’s one night together and I was getting something to drink out of the refrigerator and he walked up behind me and grabbed my waist and pulled me backwards towards him. In that moment my Nana comes out of her bedroom and sees us. She starts yelling at us. I run to my bag, grab my blade, go to the bathroom and cry and cut and text my mom before the word gets to her before I do. I have never felt like a bigger disappointment to my entire family… I felt like everyone knew by the time I saw them all again. I was so embarrassed but it soon passed over. We both still talk and hangout now but we are never as close as we used to be.
I was now a high school senior and I had another boyfriend he first treated me with respect, care, and love and I fell for his games. Soon it was just a relationship that revolved around sex, again. I started to feel like that was all I was good for. Nothing made sense for me to be alive anymore because no one would ever treat me like the human being that I am. I dealt with bullying from my peers while I dated him because he was twenty and I was only 16-17. He broke up with me over the phone because he “needed space” it killed me because he was the first guy to actually treat me like a girl should be treated.
It was about mid September of 2014, when things got bad again. I didn’t want to go to school, I begged mom to home school me, I had panic attacks every day at school more than one every hour. School was literally killing me. Mom took the time to research what she could do to help me. She found a home-bound student program that took a while to go through. So I stayed at home, while once a week, one teacher would come to my house to give me work, pick up work, watch me take tests, and help me however I needed help. My life started turning around and I had planned to graduate early.
I was tested for ADD/ADHD in January 2015, finally I got the help I needed all along. ADD/ADHD stands for Attention Deficit-Hyperactivity Disorder, however I have a rare form of the disorder that connects to anxiety, depression, anorexia, and suicidal thoughts and actions. The doctor took me off my depression medication and put me on a starter dose of ADHD medication. All this time I was finally out of high school and I was still cheering for my all star team, I still had my “big,” but now I was on a younger team. I became a role model to most of them, but I became a big sister to one of them. I took her in just like my big took me in. This sisterhood brought joy to my life. I started to get better like really better. I was happy. I started going to college cheer practices and eventually tried out for my college cheer team. I didn’t want to find out if I made the team or not until after my all star teams last competition and I wanted to find out with them because they are the people who impacted my life so much that I wanted to keep going. That day after competition, Mother’s Day 2015, I cried tears of joy with my team because I knew it was the end of one journey and the beginning of another because I made the college team. That competition weekend I became really close to my “lil’s” family. She had a brother, Christopher, whom I began to be interested in. I had told myself and her before that I would never do that mistake again. But it wasn’t a mistake at all. I started dating him May 25, 2015. I opened up to him about my life and my past and he’s supported me, encouraged me, and helped me through every step of the way.
The summer before my freshman year at college was hectic to say the least. Running around town shopping for those “dorm essentials” and he followed me every step of the way. I had to have knee surgery that jeopardized my potential cheerleading career because I tore my meniscus. But he was there through it all, taking care of me when he could, giving my mom a break. His sister/my “lil” got mad/upset with us, it tore me apart to a point I thought about saving our friendship over my relationship. But I talked to their mom about things because if anyone knew both of them the best it was definitely their mom. She said to keep trying for my “lil” and trying to involve her. She said she would realize one day that she is going to be okay. Even though he had one more year of high school and we knew the distance would be hard we persevered. As a college freshman cheerleader, life was busy to say the least. If I didn’t have class, I had practice or lifts; if I didn’t have practice or lifts, I had a game; if I didn’t have a game, I had homework; if I didn’t go home, my family and Christopher would come see me. But my friendship with my “lil” started drifting away no matter how hard I tried. I felt like a failure and I cut again. I had forgotten how amazing it felt. That winter I was able to talk to my “lil” and spend some important time with her and we have been sisters ever since.
Summer 2016 rolls around and freshman year felt like a big blur. I had lost weight but gained muscle and I was happy with my body. But I had torn the same meniscus as the year before, but I had surgery earlier that summer. And he again took care of me whenever he could, balancing out school, homework, and chores. Soon our one year rolled around, I couldn’t believe after all these relationships ending at about two months each I had been with Christopher for a year. He got me a promise ring and I had never felt more special, real, or loved ever before. I secretly went to “Senior Week” with Christopher. I had alcohol again, but not too much. But I really did have fun, it was a big step for me to get out there but I am glad I did. But at the end of summer it was hard… He had made a promise to come to college with me the following year. I had warned him about the expense. I told him he didn’t have to come. But he promised me. When it started getting closer to time to start back he realized the truth in what I had been telling him. And he broke that promise. We got through it though. And I went back to college but this time as an education major and a normal sophomore.
Fall semester of sophomore year was really stressful for me. I was taking too many credit hours and becoming more stressed. I started realizing the people around me that had become friends to me were actually hurting me more. I cut every so often.. I distanced myself away from them only to find a really good friend. Me and my boyfriend are great. I am still fighting anorexia, cutting, and the constant voices in my head. I have new medications for panic attacks and anxiety, ADHD, insomnia, and allergies. I have now been diagnosed as ADHD, severe anxiety, mild depression, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified (EDNOS), Sensory Processing Disorder (SPD), Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD), asthma, and other allergies. These disorders are not exactly a choice… because if they were I wouldn’t choose them. But they don’t define who I am they just make my personality complicated. I write to vent, to keep me going, to help get emotions out a safe way.
I hope my story encourages you that even if you feel like you have hit rock bottom that there is always another perspective. I know that I am not perfect and I make mistakes but I am human. I am learning and growing to be better, it isn’t easy and I may fail. But one day it will be worth it. I’ve gotten closer with God recently thanks to the inspiration of NF music. But it doesn’t make the relationship with him any easier. I do know this, that God still loves you no matter how many times you fail, disappoint, or push him away.
Psalms 34:18 “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted; he rescues those whose spirits are crushed.”
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A few days ago, a classmate noticed the cuts on my wrist.
Today, a friend of mine saw the cuts too.
I told them it was nothing, that I only got them for being mean to cats (Don’t get me wrong, I love cats.). I know what I said was such an awful thing to say especially when even you can see the truth beyond your own lie. It’s just that I couldn’t quite think of anything to use as an alibi anymore.
I’m afraid sooner, more people would start to notice the slashes on my wrist and think I’m a weirdo, or worse they might think I’m someone trying to get the crowd’s attention. What I’m even more afraid of is if my parents ever find out about it.
Cutting makes the pain easier but if it will only lead to more of them, shall I stop?
I should. I know more than anything that I should stop. But even so, I know I can’t. It’s like oxygen. Essential. Refreshing. Life-sustaining. Addicting.
Now, I do not know what else to do.
I couldn’t blame the cuts on my wrist for being so noticeable.
I couldn’t blame my friends if they ever find out about the cuts someday and overreact.
I couldn’t blame anyone else for being the reason why I cut.
I could only blame myself.
What shall I do to hide the wounds?
What shall I do to keep people from knowing how vulnerable I am?
Last year, I started suffering from depression.
Last week, I started cutting.
Last day, I cried and told myself how ugly the wounds look.
I’m not used to seeing my left wrist so jagged and so scarred.
Is it normal to love and hate cutting both at the same time?
To love and to hate. Two contradicting things I always seem to clash together.
I never wear regular or low rise jeans. Not because I’m insecure about my body. Not because I’m “in love” with the high-waisted jeans. It’s because I cut myself on my hip. Lines and lines of tiny cut marks all over. I cut my hip and watch the blood flow and relish the pain. It’s the only thing that stops the pain inside my head.
Hello 🙂 I am going to start now…
I have attempted suicide before, but all times my plans have fallen through. I have tried suffocation through bag twice, tried hanging myself once, tried swallowing a ton of pills once, and that’s it. I cut. I despise blood and looking at other peoples injuries makes me want to faint, but for some reason it’s different with my blood. I laugh when I cut and I shake so much. It calms me, makes me happy for a short while. I wish I could be left alone though, my parents are the kind of parents who despise any problems but love sharing them with anyone possible. I dunno what to do anymore and I desperately want to leave this sh*tty society. Oh well. Guess I’ll just have to torture myself and keep on the low for a while so my parents don’t take interest in me. 🙂 well this is just right now. I have a pretty fu*ked up past, but not about to go into detail, probs later. 🙂
I don’t feel “right”, and I haven’t felt “right” in a very long time.
I feel an uncomfortable emptiness, and as if life is continuing on in an unpleasant repetition, and I’m growing tired of it.
I am sixteen years old, and I have obtained my GED. I am going to begin college early next year, and I feel like I’m not ready, at least, with tolerating my anxiety. I have terrible anxiety, and I have panic attacks if I’m within a supermarket or similar public setting for too long. I’ve been in the college before, being I had to apply for it, and I began sweating and tearing up in the office, because there were people walking around outside, looking at me as they passed by. The office is enclosed in glass, which is of course easy to see through, so I could spot each person as they glanced over to me. It was overwhelming, and, once I had completed the application, I went outside to sit on the curb and wait on my ride. I was conflicted on whether to let the tears flow or not, because people would look at me even longer if I did, but if I didn’t they would just look at me anyway. How in the hell would I be able to compose myself walking around campus, let alone in a classroom?
Instances like this happen every time I go to a public place. I’m scared to leave the house because I don’t want these attacks to hit me again, but I don’t want to keep cooped up in my room, either.
My counselor cares more about my smoking habit than she does this, and it irks me. I don’t like going to people with my problems, but I felt as if she was “made for that”, so I tried venting to her. When I mentioned I was a heavy smoker, she’s been stuck on that since. I don’t want to go to anyone else. People tell me the same things that I don’t want to hear, but I don’t even know what I want to hear.
Since I don’t leave the house much, I don’t have any friends I can confide to. Only acquaintances over the Internet, and still, I don’t want to burden them with my problems, and I don’t want to seem melodramatic. I’ve said a few things to one of them, and they didn’t know what to do- they felt really overwhelmed and didn’t know how to help me, so I told them to forget what I had said, and we went back to conversing as usual.
I don’t like talking to my parents, and I don’t have any other family I can speak to because my father’s side of the family are all deceased, and my mom’s side despises us. I don’t want to talk to my counselor or friends. The only older sibling I have abused and molested me when I was a toddler. I feel as if I have no one to speak to. I feel like everyone’s going to give the same answer, which everyone has either done thus far, or disregard my talk because I’m a teenager. I suppose because I’m younger, my talk of problems are taken as immature rambling? I don’t know.
I don’t know what to do anymore. I’m on a multitude of medications, my self-esteem is at an all-time low, I have no friends, my anxiety and PTSD are constantly bothering me, and it’s just the same routine everyday. Sleep, overeat, speak to acquaintances. Sleep, overeat, speak to acquaintances. How much I eat is dependent on my emotion, and, over the past few months, I’ve been overeating until I feel sick and my stomach hurts. It’s difficult to control, and as of now I weigh nearly 280lbs.
I have several methods that I can take to end my life. Razors are in plain site in the restroom, sleeping medication is underneath my father’s side table, the bottle of Lithium is on the bookcase in the living room, my neighbour has a handgun that I have easy access to, and so on.
My mood right now is steadied between empty and distressed. I feel uncomfortable. I’ve been taking my medication, and I made sure that I took it tonight. I don’t know what to do, but I feel as if I’m going to end up doing something bad if this mood progresses. I have acted on my suicidal thoughts and heavily negative moods before. I have overdosed nearly thirteen times, and I have sliced my flesh open on my thighs and wrists to where I had to receive some sort of glue to help the wounds heal. I don’t want to continue doing the same thing and failing. I want to be sure I take the right dosage to end it if I do. I don’t want to wake up in the hospital to my mother and father angry and distraught. Yes, I know, suicide is selfish, being you’re leaving those who care about you pained and grieving, but death occurs every day. People can grieve, then return to their normal lives. They can think about it now and again, yes, but it isn’t going to be constantly there. The mourning will end within months or a few years.
I don’t know, I just don’t feel right. I’m debating on doing something now, as I type this. My friends are messaging me and I’m acting as if nothing is wrong. I don’t want them to feel guilty or anything in case I do something. My mother is going to wake up soon to dress my younger siblings for school, and there’s going to be screaming and arguing, like there always is. My siblings all have mental disorders, my sister holding the worse, which is autism. The screaming is routine. I really don’t like that routine.
Once my mother leaves, my father is going to rest like he usually does. From there I could grab the Lithium and take some before my mother returns, and each morning she usually gets back within forty-five minutes. I could take the sleeping medication, Clonidine, from my father’s side table and down some. I know he’s a heavy sleeper. Or I could close the restroom door and lock it, which is what I always do when I use the bathroom so it wouldn’t seem out of the ordinary, and break one of the shaving razors like I have before, and slice my arm.
I’ll see how things go this morning. I’m glad I found this site to vent. I feel as if I’ve lifted a weight from my head.
++ Reading over this, I apologize if I’ve said too much.
I’ve been cutting myself everyday. and i realized its because of him. I’m officially nothing to you, but it only makes it hurt even more. nothing ill ever do will ever make him like me. i could starve myself to be skinny, but he still wouldn’t notice me. oh well
he’s never going to notice me. he says everyone hates him but I’m right here and i like you a lot. i cut myself and I’m sad it didn’t hurt as much as i wanted. oh well
i am finally home. then when i was finally able to see my girlfriend again all i could do was cry i felt like i couldn’t even move. i would want to but when i did its like i got smacked down saying no, you don’t deserve to move. then before i even notice she’s gone and it fells like i didn’t even get to talk or be with her. when i get stuck i hate myself for it. I’m screaming just stop, just get up. but knowing how stupid it is only makes me hate so much more. i understand now. screaming from the bottom of well hoping someone will hear you, and when they do hoping you won’t fuck it up and say the wrong thing. i think i might cut myself.
If each cut could speak. If each scar could scream. They’d tell you the reason their there. Upon my arms, legs, stomach hips…every part. They’d tell you it’s for many reasons. Memories of the abuse, the rape replays in my mind. Voices shout say it was my fault…that I should abuse myself. Maybe I’m so use to it, that it’s the one thing I know well. My reasons..are one to many. Abused, pain. anger, hate….some even a suicide attempt or two. But there are a million reasons, if only they could speak…they’d tell you
i stole a pencil sharpener from my girlfriend today. i lied to her. told her I’m okay. now i have a blade. school starts Monday. all i want is to rip into my skin.
Fucking up again. Fucking up again. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
Hi, i am 19. I have been suicidal for about 2 and a half years now. I have been a cutter…the first time i ever cut myself was grade 9(15 years old).
It was actually an accident the first time because i got really angry and i happened to have a scizzors in my hand and when i get and i hit things, so without thinking i hit the open scizzors on my arm. I did this once, saw the blood, felt..wow.. And did it two more times… There are times when i still feel the urge to cut, but it doesnt control me anymore. I will admit that the last time i cut was about two months ago…
I cut because it replaces my feelings of anger and pain with numbness… I found myself smiling after i saw the blood start to ooze out of me… It was like a drunk feeling… It was a beautiful feeling. I stopped because i realised that it may have made me feel better in that moment, but it made me feel worse about myself in general… I felt angry because i am so self concious already, yet im making myself uglier by making scars. People dont like flawed skin…i couldnt wear what i wanted because my arm was all “lined up” and that made me angry because i already had morning crying sessions, getting angry and not knowing what to wear .
…you see i was also fussy about where i cut. Some people can cut their thighs and it would be the same as cutting their arm. The only place i can cut to feel that adrenaline is on my left arm.(left arm because i am right handed)…weird. I wouldnt take those scars away though because for some reason they have sentimental value to me… They are apart of me now.
When my parents found out that i cut, they were really angry and didnt handle it well but anyways… One thing they did say that helped me is that i must stop hiding my scars under sleeves. I have nothing to be ashamed about. So what? I have scars on my arms… What is the big deal?