i am a cutter. now i've said it. BUT i never meant to be at all....my friend annika used to cut. i felt so sick and sad for her every time i saw her in short sleeves (VERY rare), because it showed her pain, and her hatred of herself, and her 'failure' in her eyes. i would never want to be like her. my best girlfriends both went though a short cutting phase, but stopped. i made a vow never to be like annika. ever.then one day i was at my best guyfriend stephen's house, and it was cold. so he went to shut the window, but because we'd been playing video games for hours, his muscles were a little bit stiff. he slammed the window down harder than he meant to. i was sitting by the window, and little chips of glass flew off. one landed on the knee of my jeans. stephen went back to customizing his character, and i ran the shard over my wrist, several time, really lightly. just little scratches. then the first scratch opened a tiny bit, and a little drop of blood blossomed, and another, until all my cuts were covered in tiny little droplets were all along the cuts. i don't know what the feeling was, but it was intense. like my first orgasm or something. not sexual, but just that feeling of release and relaxation. i stared at my first cuts in horror, and threw the piece of glass as hard as i could, right into the trash.and i thought i'd never do it again. the next week, my mother punched me in the face. i went upstairs and 'accidentally' stepped on my sister's little pocket mirror, and used a sharp piece to draw little lines across my wrist. i didn't care anymore about the pain my mother caused, just how much better i felt. i kept telling myself that so long as it didn't scar, i wasn't bad. people wouldn't see the cuts on me. there wouldn't be enough to see. as long as it wasn't like annika, i was all right.but i have a f**ked up past, and it lives on through my abusive mother. i kept cutting. the cuts got worse, started to scar. i discovered if i slashed instead of pulling, the cuts were deeper and scarred. i didn't stop slashing. it got worse.people started to talk about me. call me a poser. a freak. my then-boyfriend cried every time he saw my arm, and he's not one to cry easily. i was hurting him. it hurt me. cutting fixed it. my mom beat me up every time she saw even a scratch. for about a week, i tried cutting in concealed places. then i didn't care. no matter how much mom hurt me, cutting would make it all better. and it really did. but i deicided maybe i had a serious problem. i wanted to stop. well, i wanted the hating to stop. the cuts i didn't mind.a poser and a freak. i know i'm a freak. i am not a poser. i don't want to be thought of as some girl looking for attention. i don't want attention. i want freesom, sweet release. but they don't understand.i learned there's only one way to stop people hating me for being a cutter, and that's to stop being a cutter. i held out for months, continuing my comforting vice....then one day, i decided this last set would be the end. no more cutting. so i took a good sharp sliver and pressed it into my skin, and YANKED. for about five seconds, i was staring at the meat of my arm. then the blood bubbled up and started splashing everywhere, and i knew i had to stop. that was months ago, and the scar is still livid and red. but it's not enough....i have some sort of anorexia complex about my scars. i think people look at them and think that i'm a 'poser', that i just want them to notice. i want them to know that i'm doing this for me. so i want more. part of me feels like my scars aren't enough. i need more. they can't hate me then.... i want deeper, wider scars. ones that need stitches. i want to extend this ridiculous slice across my forearm. i want to just feel better.but i still don't cut anymore....which is better, cutting for now, or letting the pain build up until i cut compulsively and end up going too far, maybe even dying? i don't know what to do.... but then, that's why i'm here.
Where did i go wrong?
How old are you and what country do you live in?You need to seek help about your abusive mother. I think dealing with that aspect of your life will make everything easier. Does your school have a drop-in centre?You also need to speak to some sort of youth worker about the cutting, even though you've stopped. Self mutilation will have bad, long-term prospects so you must sort it out.Hope this helps.
>>my then-boyfriend cried every time he saw my arm
I thought you were engaged?
Anyway, tell someone about your mother and see a psychologist.
~I tried to be good, but then I got bored~
yeah. then boyfriend. now fiancee. and it's not like i could never have had an ex before i found mr right....
i've tried to get help, but no one cares.... i've been to school and outside social workers and child protective services about my mother, but they don't care, and everyone just tells me to stop the cutting. STOP IT. no help. it's sad, really....