Why I used to cut myself...



Having been just inspired by a reviewer who said something to the effect of, "People cut themselves for different reasons," and another who said, "You should ask why your friend cuts herself." Then I realized that no one has ever given an honest and clear answer as to why they cut themselves. I decided that if at least I explained my reasons, then at least one person will be able to understand.

In the beginning, the reason I cut myself was because I was so angry at my mom and so hurt by her betrayal that I cut myself in order to somehow show her how I felt. I was unable to express myself through words or actions. So I decided to take this exit. I ran a dull scissor against my skin many times, but never once managed to draw blood. From then on, when ever I felt guilty about something or another. I was never able to express myself, I was too quiet and shy. This was in about seventh grade.

Then I graduated to needles, sewing needles. I clearly remember the three deep scratches across my left wrist... and for a twist I put one long slash going through all three. I still had not drawn blood, they simply turned red. I did this numerous times until one night.

This one night I was simply going insane, I was so anxious, I was so depressed, I couldn't live... I WASN'T ABLE TO LIVE! I scratched myself with my needle so many times all over my left arm. It looked like I had an old dead tree on my arm. And I remember towards the end of my cutting, I started to write "H-E" and couldn't decide whether or not to write "help" or "hell." So I stopped then. After a few minutes I was fascinated and scared over what I had done. Why did I do it? Because I needed to show my mother, who knew about my cutting for two years prior to the incident, that I needed help and that she couldn't deny it to me anymore because my life was in danger. I lived with the scars for almost three more years.

I had to cut myself to get help. I had to. The way my mother was, she wouldn't have gotten it for me otherwise. The cutting was just a side effect of what was really happening to me. If I didn't cut myself, I would've committed suicide because there was no way to get out at that time. NOW I am not saying that this is true for everyone, but it was true for me. My mother thought my thoughts were imaginary and stupid.

to be continued