i cut. i know others who do the same, but they do it for very different reasons... attention, rebelion... i just need it. sometimes things get out of hands, and i need my escape... not many people in my intimate circle know about it, but i have told the ones that mean the most to me, and they have been understanding... but the reason i have it under controll, i think, is because my life is now in my own hands... i believe it's not a fashion statement, or a hobby... it's a way to get controll.. finding other things under your control helps you to keep this in respectable boundries... i don't know... sex helps...

Pain took on a whole new meaning for me when I saw my daughter practicing SI to relieve her pain, having learned it from me. I am a 42 y/o mother of four and I have been seeking solace in this way since I was 12. My arms look like battlefields and I hide them under many uncomfortable guises. All of a sudden, it wasn't just "my dirty little secret" anymore. My child was using a razor blade on her arms and I felt helpless. Worse, I felt I had no right to counsel her on the subject, being the obvious failure that I was myself. It took some courage, but thanks to the brave people like yourselves who share your stories, I was able to discuss SI with my girl and discovered that there can be an enormous amount of relief in connecting with people who know, who really know, what it's all about. Thankfully, my daughter has grown into a beautiful, stable young woman who has learned other methods of self-care. As for you and me, we do what we need to do in order to go on. If you ever see me, and recognize me for who I am, please ... connect. It would mean so much.

The first time I read this I remember thinking wow I wonder what it would be like to meet other people who cut themselves too. I didn't think I would ever meet anyone else that cut because I don't know I guess I was in denial. At the begining of my Senior year I became friends with this guy Marcus in one of my classes and I was looking at his arm one day and saw a bunch of scars. I took a chance and asked him what happened and he told me that he cut himself. I guess in a way finding out we both cut helped us form a friendship. There is another boy in another class who cut as well. We started talking one day and he showed me his arm because he saw mine when we were working on skills for our cna class. He lifted up his sleeve and revealed his scars to me. We became rather close and he shared his experience with me. My last experience of recognition was with my sister's good friend Teresa's nephew who I met freshman year. I knew him for quite a few years before we started talking one day and he showed me his scars. I finally met people who cut and I was lucky that they were all pleasant experiences.

ive been cutting for 4 years, i stopped earlier this year life has been awsum since then except for yesterday, i went ot the store and i bought a coke and a teenage girl was working the counter and i saw it i want ot cut right now thats why im writing the feeling is back

holy shit im not alone.

The last semester of my junior year in high school we got a new student. At first I thought she was strange. She said the wierdest things that I thought no one in their right mind would say out loud. But after a while we became friends. She even told me she loved me once (though I suspect her state of mind was slightly altered). Anyway, she didn't hide her scars (and impressive scars they were). We were always together at school though outside of school we hung around with different people. After we graduated we ended up going to the same college. I see her every now and then but have never told her that I SI as well. Sometimes it amazes me how little people, who spend everyday together, know each other.

You see, I have a little twist, I've been the one recognised,never one to see. Although this is fairly new to my Its only been nearly a year. My scars are those that are confused for animal inflictions( Today the attendant at the gas station said "what the hell did you do to your arms?" I embarrassingly looked down and started my cover- oh that its from some wire beaded braclets i have..the response is now almost instinctive- Oh she said. " they look like cat scrathes" why the hell dont i just say i have a cat.. I cant bring my self to say i have a cat when i dont, but lying is okay when its about braclets. One thing i know is i had wanted so bad to be seen, and after one of my coworkers forced the truth from me.. she had know a cutter... I felt so small and insignificant again. This had been my secret power over my life, and in a second she took it from me. I rarely cover up with little more than a watch, but when someone starts conversation I am always afraid that they will look at my arms or thighs and notice burns, cuts or bruises. The fear of discovery has set in but the addiction to the relief stunts my quitting-these are my awkward arms, and my sleek legs, but please look into my eyes, that is where im hidden.

7th grade was the first time i ever cut. The first time i ran that blade acrossed my skin was the best moment that i had in a long time and after knowing that i could feel that good i did it costantly afterwards just trying to get that feeling again. When i got into highschool I became steadily worse. When i did it i felt worse then i had before and then i did it again to try to get the effect i was looking for. Anyways, one day i was sitting outside with my friends for lunch when these girls walked by. I had talked to them a couple times before but we werent friends. Even though it was about 95 degreese outside the one girl on the end was wearing longsleeves. I pointed this out to my one friend (who was also a cutter) but she didnt think much of it. Later that day in my algebra class, the girl sat right next to me, she asked to borrow my calculator. When she reached over to get it her sleeve moved up a little revealing a couple of small cuts on her wrist. When she saw that her sleeve was up she quickly pulled back her hand and pushed her sleeve down. She looked over at me to see if i had noticed and i acted as if i didnt. At first i couldnt believe that someone like her would be a cutter. She was one of the popular girls who seemed to have a perfect life. The next day i told my friend but she wasnt as suprised as i was. Over the next week i couldnt help but think if i should tell her i knew, maybe i would show her my scars so she wouldnt be so uncomfortable about me knowing. The next week or so, while in the library we had to do a project together. While we were reading this book together i notices she kept putting her hands under the table and was holding her wrists. I knew it was because a new cut she made was probley stinging. She put her hands back up on the table and then i slowly pulled up my sleeve showing her my scars. She look at my arm and then looked at her own arm. I told her that she was not alone and ever since then we have become very close friends. Everyone still askes her why we hang out together , but all she says is that we have more in common then anyone one else she knows.

I'm 16 and have been cutting since last year. I've always noticed that my best friend always had little mosquito bite-looking scars on her legs. And sometimes she would pick at them. I figured that it was just kind of a bad habit. But one night this summer, a bunch of my friends were staying at a cottage. Well, we all got pretty drunk and while eveyone else was inside, I decided to go sit outside, because I was feeling like shit. (It turns out that I get really depressed when I drink.) Well my best friend came out and we decided to go for a walk. I felt as though I had to tell someone about my cuts and how much I hate myself. Well, I ended up telling her and she told me that she picked at her scars on her legs on purpose, when she was feeling crappy or pissed off. I didn't really realise that she did it purposely. i had always thought it was just a bad habit. It was good to tell someone, and also have someone know how you feel. It's good to know you're not alone.

yes, i see the anxious tug on the sleeve and see how they are careful to have something over their wrists. i saw a few girls at camp who wore sweatshirts when it was 90 degrees outside. and i immediatly knew why. on the last day of camp i finally went up to them and asked how they stopped. one gave me her number to call if i ever need anyone.

I saw him in the window of a bubble tea shop next to the cafe I used to frequent. He caught my attention because he was beautiful, but a few weeks passed before I saw him face-to-face. A friend introduced us, but the boy wouldn't meet my gaze. That act of shyness contradicted his wild antics at a party the night before (as recollected by the mutual friend). SI crossed my mind, though I can't tell you why exactly I thought that. Sometime later, in the tea shop, our friend took the boy's wallet and sifted through its contents. He produced a long razorblade. "What's THIS for?" he asked, eyebrow arched. I knew exactly what it was for, but what was I supposed to interject? It's awful listening to another SIer fumble for an excuse as you sit there unable to help and trying not to make yourself obvious. But I wanted so badly to touch his arm and say, "I understand." He seemed to talk his way out pretty easily, but there was a look on his face that I recognized as my own determined glare: be more careful. Now I don't know if it was my scars that refused his ability to look me in the eye. Nevertheless, even if it's highly unlikely I will ever be able to tell him I know how it is and be someone for him to talk to, I think about him a lot and hope things get better for him.

Everybody who has reviewed this excellent piece,i must say, seems to be able to recognize a self-injurer on the spot. I am a cutter, Not proud and very ashamed. Of course I have seen other cutters. I recognize scars, unsurprisingly. But I have never looked into someone's eyes and seen a scar, immediately connecting that with cutting. I once had just gone to movie, and was walking out of the theatre. A beautiful girl held hands with her boyfriend. She was probably about 22 years old. Giant scars stuck out of her wrists. I was shocked. How could this beautiful girl mutilalate herself? I know I am ugly and the scars do nothing to my non-existent looks. But i am not shallow and that was not the only thing that shocked me. She and this boy were completely smitten with each other. You could see it in the way they held hands, the way the were like extentions of each other. I couldn't believe anyone could love someone who hated theirself. To me, it made no sense. No one would obviously ever love me, and I hoped I could live out of my fantasys. But I saw the beauty in their love, and pulled my sleeves around my hands and looked down ashamed. They were so lucky. Their love was beautiful. I shook my head at my own thoughts of love and dug my nails into my hands. And that truly is the one time I have seen a total stranger who is or was a cutter. Sure, I have met other cutters, but they recognized me. I pushed away their fabricated care and surrounded myself with my self hate. I wish I could look into the eyes of another and see their scars. I can look into anyone in pain's eyes and see their misery, but I cannot see scars. And I don't think I want to. Because then they would look at me in disgust and no longer see who I was without the scars.

We were in the open house for the new Catholic high school. I saw her. I knew her. Her sweatshirt's arms were bunched up...two deep horizontal cuts were on her arms with soft traces of scars on her wrist. I thought of it as deeply sensual. I would have loved to stroke those scars and whisper to her that she wasn't alone. I attend school with her younger brother. As soon as I saw her arms I knew those were on purpose scars, they were too perfect to be anything else. She had my eyes.

I've been a self-injurer for quite a few years. I go to an all girls school and I thought that I was the only one. A freak. When my friends found out, they cried. And I felt even more terrible about myself.Then, i start seeing scars everywhere. Be it on wrists,arms, ankles. I see scars on my best friend. I see scars on my close friends. I see scars on my classmates. Sometimes, I'll keep quiet about it. But I'll start looking out for more scars. "Oh, it's her seventh one this week." I'd say to myself. Sometimes, I'll ask casually. I remember a classmate of mine; i sat behind her in class And i saw the scars on her wrists that she painstakingly tried to cover up with a wristwatch.i took the courage to ask her about it. She was silent for so long, her eyes blank of any emotion. I showed her my scars and she met my eyes and telegraphed a message; "I understand your pain." A friend of mine had just started to SI. I tried to doscourage her but i guess sometimes, the pain is just too strong. Whenever I see new scars on her wrists, i'll walk beside her and touch them lightly. She'll always squeeze my hand as if to say "we're in this together.You're not alone." Until now, she's been my support. My best friend is the kind who never tells me anything about herself or her pain. everytime I see scars on her, i'll meet her eyes and she'll know I know. It's hard not to notice. Now, i notice more easily. i can always tell when someone has been cutting. and that's because they do the exact same things i do to cover up.

I used to consider myself the master of disguising my scars...even in t-shirts, which I struggled not to wear, I could turn my arms down so they would completely mask my cuts. It got to the point where other self-injurers were not difficult to spot. And whenever I saw the scars or burns on their arms surpass mine, I felt the need to better them, so I would seem the most serious...it's the dangerous intelligence many young, female injurers feel, I think. The need to be perfect, the best...or the worst. I also enjoy heavy metal concerts, where I don't even have to hurt myself, others can do it in worse ways for me. I seem to thrive in the mosh pits, where I get hit in the face, my hair gets pulled, I get knocked down...it's all very satisfying. Along with this satisfaction is piercings-watching the needle pierce my flesh and the trickling, warm pain I feel...the warm throbbing afterward is almost better than cutting. At the end of the day,however, the obsession to slash my wrists returns and all the piercings and mosh pits in the world cannot replace the feeling-I may be the only one who has alternatives and still feels the need to mutilate myself.

I've been cutting since I was 9yrs and I'm 15 now. I alwayz some times slip and accidently let my sleve up to wash a dish or something else of that matter, sometime certain people see it and they give me that look...the look that they understand and know what I'm going through, others just look and ask questions, (I hate that)ON ANOTHER SUBJECT: Well, I one time I was cutting myself in my room and my sister knocked on the door. She scared me and I cut to deep. My mom had to take me to the hospital.My mom took the lock off my door and takes away my razors after I take shower. I still get to wear my own clothes like, the wristbands and long sleeved shirts. I still cut, but she doesn't know that. I keep extra blades in different hiding places of the house.

The first time I met someone else who was cutting, I was in a pysch ward. I was only 13 when I started talking to one of the girls there. I don't remember her name but I do remember her having short read hair. She had asked me why I had to do my work at a seperate table. And I had told her that it was my second time being in here and that I needed to "foucus completely on my work". She said that she had been here before too, but it was over a year ago. She said that she was in the hospital for hurting herself. Because she used objects to hurt herself. I looked straight at her and said "like this?" I then pointed at my bandaged wrist. She said "Yeah... just like that..." She later told me that she had done it while she was in the hospital. And I was not to say a word. She left later that day. I never found out what happedned to her. But I still feel bad about not saying something to a nurse or doctor there. The next time I met someone was in the 9th grade. There was a girl in my homeroom who I had talked to on and off. One day I noticed several fresh wounds on her arm. I had asked what had happened, and she used the old cliche: "My cat scratched me." I had a gut feeling that she had done what I had do. We later became good friends and we both opened up to each other about our secrets. She would write me of different words she carved into her body. And i would write her of mine. But as we got closer to the end of 10th grade, she started hanging out with a "bad crowd". She started drinking and smoking. And we slowly drifted apart. I find it almost funnny how I would injure my self on purpose but I am so against smoking, drinking, and drug abuse. We didn't really stay in touch over the summer break. But when school started up agian this past year, we started talking more. The first day back to school I noticed her arms. She had so many pink deep scars that it would have taken me all day to count. I was jealous of the fact that she was so open about it. That she showed off her arms with such freedom. After seeing that, I became more daring. Always covering them and being extra careful about it around my family, but free to show my arms in class. After much time though, I felt so bad for her. She confided in me about how bad her homelife was. And how "everyone was leaving her". She showed them off because no one cared. No one enough to hug her and beg her to stop. Not even the teachers would question her about them. Another person I met confessed to me in the middle in a class. Though I knew long before. In our gym class together I saw the words "Alone". But she wasn't. When she came out the of "Cutting Closet" I told her I did the same. And pulled up my long sleeves. She was so surprised because I had always seemed so happy. Sadly, we haven't really kept in touch. I've seen more people with perfectly straight scars in a row. In fact I saw someone last week with one. And when I do, I try and not stare at their arms. I instead look in their eyes. I always hope that they'll look back into mine and say, "You too?"

I just started public high school this year after going to catholic school for 9 years. At my old school we had all known eachother since kindergarden. in 5th grade i started cutting a lot. so my friends started too. soon every girl in my class did it. all 15 of us. Now in highschool i have horrible scares all over both arms and my legs. i don't try to hide them because that is too much work. so i let them be out in the open and alomst everyday someone will cum up to me and be like oh u cut urself me too.

About a year ago one of my friends began dating this girl. I didn't know it at the time but she cut. When my friend found out he was talking to his best friend and my roommate at the time. I was in another room but I heard the words "cut" and "i'm worried about her". Now up till this point only my 2 roommates knew about the cutting and they promised not to tell. So I walked in and said "what are you guys talking about". Thinking my secret was being told. My friend told me all about his girlfriend and her cutting. I told him maybe I could talk to her. And I lifted up a pant leg to reveal some nasty gashes I had done the day before. His eyes kind of popped out of his head, but he was glad there was somone else who did it and who she could talk to about it. Later on I started dating somone and I found out his sister cut. I was amazed that there were 2 other people in my life that did this, who I could talk to. We talk about it a bit, show off scars and tell the stories behind them. Discuss whats the best method to use. (we decided scratchintg deeply with a sharp object like a thumbtack was best because of the unevenness of the cut it would heal the best. Burning leaves the worst scars). One day I was on a 3 way call with my boyfriend and the girl that cut. her and I were both upset about well a situation we had been in. I was cutting while I was talking... or well listining mostly as I was in the zone. But he finally said "I know what it's like to do that... I acted like i didn't but I used to to it... not as badly as you guys, but I did it." He then told me that what he had said were cat scratches the night before weren't. I had had feeling they hadn't been,I was sad and upset he SIed as well. But I was glad to have more support. I still cut alot, but nto as much because i know how it feels when a loved one hurts themselves. He cried the first time I told him I cut and kissed my cuts. It's just good to have alot of support around.

I am 18 years old (although my birthday is just on the 10th of May)... and I'll soon be 19. After years of struggling with self-injury, the urges and temptations, I met someone who would later change my entire life. I thought I was in love before but looking back, I see that it was just lust I had fallen into. My heart had been torn out, ripped up, thrown to the ground and then stomped on by my ex. Not only that, my uncle, whom was more of a dad to me than my own, died in 1997 leaving me with many questions. I met Dave when I was 17, almost 18. We met at a party and hung out for a few weeks. I was still a virgin and things started getting hot and heavy one night. Unbeknownst to him, I had scars running up and down my thighs. I whispered softly to him, "If you want tonight to be THE night, it can be..." But little did he know what I meant by that. I meant not only could tonight be the night that I had sex for the first time, tonight could be the first I let someone see my scars. When he took my pants off ever so gently, he looked down and saw my legs and looked up at me shocked. He asked me what they were from and I told him the truth. His responce was something that killed me, an ignorant remark from someone who had no idea anything about this "disease". He said to me "So you had some problems, and you cut yourself up like a Virginia ham?" I started to cry and said "No, it's something I wouldn't ever want you to understand" whereasto he took me in his arms and pressed me close to his chest and whispered "Don't worry, you'll never have to do this again... and I'm sorry for my comment I just don't understand but I want to and I will... someday." Followed by a few more tears he laid me down and we made love and it was nothing short of bliss. I am still with him and that night will live on forever in my heart not only as the night I first made love, but on the night I first opened up about my issues.

I CONSTANTLY find myself checking out other people's arms for scars, and the places I find them most often are on the arms of fast-food employees. Probably because they dont' have a choice about wearing short sleeves like everyone else. I remember when I worked at Taco Bell, and borrowing long-sleeved shirts from my friend Nancy. Now I don't cut on my arms anymore, I have picked smarter places on my body to hurt myself, places that don't show in the summer. CAn't wear a bathing suit though.

I almost said I haven't thought about cutting in a long time, but that isn't true. I think about it every day. I just haven't considered it lately. I haven't cut in nearly two years. I've read a lot of stories about people who cut every once in a while, and I respect them greatly. For minimizing the threat. I think that is sometimes the most one can do. I had to quit cold turkey. If I ever held another razor in my hand, I would be back in the hospital. There is no doubt. As it was, I quit because one of my teachers (and best friends, I called him Superman) persuaded me to. It took him many months. But my love and respect for him enabled me to turn to him for help instead of a razor. About a year after I quit, he called to me for help. He often dealt with cutters, and he wanted me to talk to one. And before he even said who it was, I knew. I knew every cutter in the school -- though none of them knew I knew. I just watched them. So I already had a profile of the girl in my mind when he asked me to talk to her. And we did talk, and I set up a journal for her to write to me in, and we often shared it with Superman. She was raped a month or two after we began talking, and I struggled to help her deal with that, trying to teach her that she could overcome it. Ironically, I had just gotten up the courage to tell him about my being raped when I was seven about a week before, so he was trying to help us both deal with the splitting pain it was causing us. Since I began assisting her through her counseling, she and I have become very good friends. She's shared a lot with me. And I hope I've helped her. I have been pulled onto the team of our high school to help cutters -- and I've often identified and evaluated many of the cases before even the adults were aware of them. I agree. It doesn't take seeing a cut or burn to know someone cuts. All you have to do is see their eyes.

well...my recognition story is kinda weird. It was during Christmas, my family and i had to visit out distant relatives; parties that my sister and i both hate going to. We were sitting in a back room just talking because we were bored, and the topic of our "deepest darkest secrets" came up. We both were reluctant to say anything, but i wanted to be close to my sister...so i asked her what letter it started with...and we basically just spelled it out. I was so happy to find another person that knows exactaly whats going on, especially since we live in the same house, but because shes my little sister, i felt (and still do) so bad. I was sort of hoping that i was a fluke or something...but my baby sister...i dont want her to go though the same pain as me, but theres nothing i can do for her. well....we dont talk about it anymore, and it seems since then we've even drifted apart. Well...thats my recognition.

i see them all the time.. they see me too... i can just tell a person's pain i can just see it in there eyes. it's there. and it shows. and all i want is to help them. but i can't help myself . so how do i help them too? its hard to see someone else.... but then again it is a relief off my shoulders to know that i am not the only one out there with that same look in my eyes!

when you have been in that state so many times, you can almost smell others like you, I think some too almost feel romantic about it, that they hurt themselves & in that sense they feel kind of spiritually attracted to others. I get this feeling when I am the lowrider close to the edge. Since my first experiences of self injury or as I say self mutilation I see it growing I think more and more people seek comfort functionality yet the world is so twisted in dysfunction we just join in to express, cope or justify our existence. Basic-ally inless your into the adrenaline of pain, then basically SI is about extremely deep rooted spiritual & emotional pain. Truth Most of us are extremely gifted

I havent cut for almost 5 months, 5 long painful copin months... recognition is sometimes easy because nowadays more and more people are showing off their scars like prizes won in a carnaval...when I first found out about self injury was this guy, he had a story that the scars were something else, but when they started getting worse and worse I realized, it was self injury..one night in a fury of pain and depression I took out the knife and pressed down into my forearm, the feeling was amazing carefree and beautiful, such a personal expierence, I tried to hide it but it was hard, I wear short sleeved shirts quite often, funny, for those months I was cutting my parents never noticed, I had a bundle of scars on my left shoulder, 14 on my forearm, they were noticeable, but they didnt notice, I got into a group to help me, in this group there were people I never would have thought would cut, they hide it well, the other wear their scars as everyday accessories, and I realized that I seem like I wouldnt cut, with my blonde hair and blue eyes, I seem as if Im supposed to be a happy child... jealousy followed some of their presentation of scars, the beauty and the feeling it gave me, I got caught, my parent found my stash of razors and they found my knife and toook it, I cried when they took it...my knife was the beauty of cutting at all it was the heart and soul of my cutting so I havent cut since, 5 months, but about a week ago I found where my parent hid the stash, I found my beautiful knife, 5 months, 5 months, 5 months... "I sit here with my razor in one hand knife in the other, running them gracefully across my skin like some intimate secret I share with them and wishing I had the courage to push down..."

Hi, my name is May. I am nearly seventeen, and I have been cutting for nearly four years, and putting myself in situations where I will be hurt for many more. There is this boy I met through one of my friends. He is very shy but when he does talk he is one of the funniest, nicest people I have ever met. My sweatshirt has holes cut into it for me to slide the thumbs through, so I don't have to worry about my sleeves sliding down. He always wore big shirts too but I never though anything of it. One day I was talking to him and he made a gesture and his sleeve slid up to midway down his arm. I saw a neat pattern of pink marks and dark lines down his skin. I immediately recognized them as burns and brands. I don't burn, I cut and bite, but I know what marks fire leaves because I have experimented with it. I didn't say anything, I just looked at him and gave a sad little smile, and he smiled back in the same way. We both knew. We haven't said a word about since then.

hey, i'm vaughan i have been si for 3 yrs, im 18 moast ppl just look at me like a freak, cuz i dont bother hiding the scars.

hey, i'm vaughan i have been si for 3 yrs, im 18 moast ppl just look at me like a freak, cuz i dont bother hiding the scars.

I rarely notice cutters. In my entire life I've only known three. One did it mostly for attention, the other because it was the 'thing' to do, and one is just like me. When I do notice a cutter I instantly feel as though the spotlight is on me. As though every person walking past won't think twice about them, but will see the way they fidget and look to me, mirroring them. I don't tell people I cut. I don't like the thought that it'll put the limelight onto them and they'll be caught out, mirroring me.

This summer I went to Warped Tour and there was this girl just in front of me. At one time she put her arms in the air (to take a picture or something) and I saw the scars on her upper left arm. I have some on mine too and they looked like hers. I felt like we were close without even knowing each other. I even felt like she had stopped too and was now wearing her scars because it's part of her and she can't do anything about it. It's weird too, because I felt jealous since hers looked a little bit wider. It was a major trigger for me (I stopped about 5 months ago and is slowly slipping back). I wear short sleeves too and people don't ask me anymore about the scars on my arms because they're slowly fading.. but when it happens, I get really angry/shy. It's really personal. My closest friends know, but I hate to talk about it.

Indeed..I have met one like us..I say like us, I've made a conscious effort to refrain lately..Although, I guess it's been a while since I felt the need to..Regardless, yes, I have met another, just once, earlier this year..We fell in love..We shared fundamental aspects..Twas a beautiful time..I threw it away..As usual..

its been hard for me finding others to relate to... my ex did it and we connected pretty well about it even tho he was much worse then me honestly i think he cut mainly for attention. I was able to meet a girl in high school that did it but was never able to tell her i did it to. She didnt kno i knew. i was told she did by my bestfriend. I was a member of FCCLA(Family career and comunity leaders of america) in high school, i was the black sheep.. drinker, smoked weed now and then, tattooed, pierced but trying to suceed and have fun just like everyone else. Most of the people there were goody goodys so i thought. We had made it to nationals and we were in tennesse and we were on our way to a state meeting. I was perky and smiling and waveing to other indiana competators and i saw her... scars covered her arms and i actully smiled... there was another alike me. I kno i'm not alone but its reasureing to see others like me. It was odd but very comforting at the same time.sometimes you gotta have that source that knows what you dealing with besides people who constantly never understand.

I used to think I was odd for eyeing other people's arms and legs. I used to think that I was the only person who noticed the scratches on someone's arm or the oddly placed bruise on their wrists. I used to think that I was alone in pretty much everything I did, though. The first person I ever met who cut blantantly told me about it. She showed me her arms and I recall having this terrible fascination with it. There was something alien and ugly about it that made me want to understand. Why would you want to hurt yourself? What could you possibly gain from that? Several months prior I had been in my first therapy appointment and had been asked if I hurt myself and I'd thought the same thing: Why? Soon thereafter, I understood. I could understand the redirection of pain, I could understand punishing yourself for your mistakes. That's why I did it; to punish myself. If I cut once for things I'd done in the past, I'd never have to worry about it again. I didn't tell anyone and no one would have guessed I did it. I was one of the top kids in my class, one of the most well-known actors at my school, and seemed pretty happy usually. Even my parents didn't catch on to what I was doing to myself. Eventually, though, my two best friends found out and told me to stop. One of them used to SI and had stopped soon after I'd started, and the other began soon after me, but both told me they worried about me and they didn't want me to end up dead. I haven't done anything to myself for a while because of them. The embarassment of weakness and the thought of betraying them tends to keep me from picking up the blade again, but now I know I'm not alone anymore. I see the scars on other's arms and know that even if I'm the only one who notices, I still understand. I have scars, too. We all have our scars, and none of us are really alone.

The look in the eyes. The way they move. The way they try to hide the pain from others... When the subject comes up somehow (People I hang out with have/had mostly lived with Self-Injurious Behavior, not currently, and know how it feels, though some still have rejection to people who's living with this behavior.) and we try to look other side to hide our tears inside our eyes, holding them back, trying to not make any eye contact with anybody because if we do they'll know, some just avoiding that we're talking about it at all, others just pretending that you have to be crazy to do that 'shit', or faking a smile, pretending everything's fine, but even that I can tell... It happened to me on August 06, when I met one of my closest friends, when I actually started to 'socialize', it was the third time I hung out with them, that's why I remember the date.... I don't know how or why, but everybody said that him and me were the 'quiets ones', I mean, we didn't talk unless someone else said something to us, I remember it because if we stayed alone we'd look at each other and wouldn't say any word. The first time I talked to him was because he heard I liked SlipKnoT [[Maggots, Stay (SIC)]] and that was it until two months later (explained later). I remember that that same night when we were hanging out around downtown, and I don't really remember how it happened, but they started talking about self-injury. None of them was hurting themselves at the moment but me (at least what I thought), no one knew about by then. And as always, I didn't say anything. Suddenly I had the urge to look at him (I'd have to admit that I found him attractive, now I'm dating with his brother who's almost equal but a few years older...), and our eyes connected for a split of a second... and I could see... oh god, I even remember his look. He showed so much anger, hate, sorrow... all I wanted to do was scream that I was feeling it too, I was feeling the same as him and that we could be together (not that way) and talk or just be there... Even though, my mind convinced me that I was still alone and that he didn't hurt himself, that his look that had had was just disgust towards all the people who did it. It made me do it even more. After two months, we hadn't ever really talked. My best friend Mayra set up 'a party', we were actually eight people, between us there was him, who had a crush on Mayra (she's lesbian). We went all together to her house and when we started eating pizza, it was that he was sat right in front of me, I looked at him (I'm really used to look at people directly into the eyes and stare, to some it gets uncomfortable or awkward), and he looked at me and kept with 'my game', it got to a point in which I got tired and I crossed my eyes (or crossed-eyed) in purpose and he laughed. I will never forget that... I don't know why but this guy had something that called my attention, [now] I don't like him that way but somehow I felt I could trust him. I looked at him constantly, which made me notice he ate/eats a lot, even though he's really skinny. After that I noticed he was going a lot to the bathroom. Immediately I figured out he was bulimic, and counting the fact that everytime he got out of the bathroom his eyes were puffy; now a month ago or so he confessed it to me, I try to help him since I lived with it, but I'm not sure he's stopping, and that breaks my heart. Then I noticed that he would held his left sleeve with his hand everytime he took a beer or something, and it was then when after that (that I think he saw me looking at his arm) he started pulling his sleeves up, just a couple of times, but I saw the scars, they looked a lot like mine except that mine cover (still, they remain) my entire forearm and his were all together in the upper side. I don't really believe it was a seek for attention, it looked that he had been doing it for a while then... After a month he suddenly stopped SI-ing as he started to go to the psychiatrist, he's still with medication to sleep and antidepressants, but he's still bulimic, and not because he told me to is that I know, it's too obvious now. I've never been caught when I was SI-ing, and no one ever saw my scars unless I showed them or just wore short sleeves. Now all my friends know that I 'used' to cut and my mom too, but they don't know that I kept doing it, not many times but enough to left scars that will remain. Once I found my sister with the blade of a paper cutter, but it was very rusty and it didn't cut at all, scratching her legs. I felt so guilty... She didn't get to cut herself though, but I know that probably one day she will, I just know it because I know her... She doesn't know that I'm a self-injurer (I think), but if she founds out I know that she will do it, because it was me and because she knows that if I kept on doing it it was because it made me feel somehow good... So that's why before anything happens I will try to help her out because I don't want her to live the same and the same pain as I do. My boyfriend used to cut himself, there aren't many marks on his arms though... And something I never told him is that I love his scars. And I wonder, Does that make me crazy or something? Then the girl who has a crush on my boyfriend, still she's my friend, cuts herself. I know it because she's used to show the scars everytime she does it, and when I started going out with him she cut herself in front of us... that was really heart-breaking but for a moment I was really mad at her, then it was all ok. Anywayz, at the end the three of us talked about it and everything's fine now. Mayra, my best friend used to cut herself, even though I met her when she didn't do it anymore she once had an 'attack' and she SI-ed. She has diagnosed Borderline Personality Disorder, Depression and Anxiety Disorder. She even got to be into a psychotic state in which she didn't reacted to anything, but she rathers to say that she was autistic (why? I don't know). Another friend used to cut herself too. I don't know the reasons. But now she's a lot better since she started to do to an Evangelic Church (I'm not into any kind of religion, I'm agnostic). There are more people but I don't really know why they'd SI. -Sam.

first id like to agree with alot of ppl this is one of the most bad ass sites out there. now for the most part i just thought it was instinctual, i can always spot another SI even if its not a cutter, just the way they compose themselves, but i never really did anything about it and im proud of my scars so i never hide them even if i wanted to i live in texas so fuck that, and i have 2 friends that are very close to me now, one a former cutter, who noticed my scars and we started talking, and one who is like me and doesnt try and hide it, both just came up and started a covo about it, so i guess, as long as its a fellow SI and not a stuck up prick telling you how to live your life we as a community have no problem sharing with each other so i say you see one and have a good feeling like i do start up a convo itll do you both some good, and also on a latter note im a psych major also and i have a question wondering how many on this site study psych also is that also reoccuring or just a conicdince, itll be good to know

I always come back and read this when I feel so lonely. It's good to know I'm really not alone even though I feel like that all the time...

Hello, My name is Lynnette, am 14 years old and I have been cutting since I was 12, I have stoped cutting for 3 months know but its starting to get hard. Like my friends down understand anything, they just hit me when they have seen that I cut, or if I say I wanna cut, when I see blood or a blade I just wanna cut, its like cutting is a drug that I cant get my hands off.

I was paying an account, the girl on the other side of the counter reached up to return my credit card to me & her sleeve rolled back revealing her scars. She quickly pulled the sleeve back down & searched my face for a clue that I had seen. I calmly told her "it's ok, me too, my ph number is on file if you ever need to talk". She smiled & thanked me but has yet to use the phone number.

I have alot of friends who self injure. I don't look for that quality in people when I am making new friends it just happens. Sure I've had those times in class and I recognise similar movements to my own, but I don't try to become there best friend just for that reason. I surround myself with people like me, not purposely but always it ends up that they self injure, they had a troubled childhood. So many people have been hurt and so many people are "emo" now self injury is percieved as attention seeking even more so. I won't even secretly show my scars anymore... Not from embarassment or guilt just because I don't want people to think I'm attention seeking. I'm rambling on with shit but basically yes I have noticed other people around her hurt themselves but so many people do now days it has become a sick ritual for people who are actually creating problems for themselves just to make it seem okay. Self injury isn't healthy and shouldn't be taken lightly and now days that's all people seem to take it as and I'll just stop now because I'm probablly not making sense.

I thought I was alone for so long until college when I began to recognize the same "need" in other people's eyes. It was startling at first, most would shy away from discussing SI and would look at me like I was crazy for being so open about it. By the end of college I felt no shame in my scars, my past, or my actions. No matter how fierce my wounds looked I was still me no matter what other people saw in me. I have only worn long sleeves and long pants as a defense mechanicism. It was easier to hide the fist shaped bruises...no one ever cared about the "cat scratches." I learned over the years to be truthful and unashamed and I know that when other cutters etc would look at me they'd see insanity and fear my actions because it was literally like looking in the mirror and it caused them to fear, I was and have never been ashamed of the way I cope, the reasons I need the blade cause me to be ashamed but never the actual cutting. I can see SI in so many other people's eyes, it hurts me to know that it is still needed for people younger than me and it gives me no hope to see people even older than me still use SI to cope, no wins on any side of the fence...that causes sadness within me. So when I see other cutters I make it a point to look them in eyes and convey understanding and sympathy. And sometimes I'll even walk up to them and say "Hi!"

in math, i used to i have seen someone else who SI's.sit by this cute little preppy girl, who always wore long sleeves. now, where i live, it is cold all year long, and we're bundled up for most of the year, but i could just tell. by the way she tugged down her sleeves, how she never spoke, never took off her jacket. she acted like i used to, before i got better at hiding the scars and depression. one day, while we were working on homework, her sleeve slipped up. a straight scar, right across her wrist, deeper and nastier than anything i had ever done to myself, was there. i could see other smaller ones, peeking from the sleeve. she never noticed me staring, and i never said anything about what i saw.

It's funny.... I can always tell when one of my friends has been cutting. Because for them, it is a call for help. But for me, it isn't...It's honestly pleasurable. So although I can see it in them, and know when they've newly bled... no one has ever noticed on me. Just because I don't have that look. I want... someone to be able to know without my dropping the signs, because I /don't/ drop them... everyone just wants to be significant, I guess...

i suppose like a lot of you i didn't have the best background...not the worst, but not the best. I just played around with cutting at first...but once i got into high school, it got worse. i cut on and off from my eighth grade through the present day (which would make it about five years now), but the funny part is, it escalated tremendously my senior year... supposed to be a happy time, right? I had this compulsion, this NEED to cut that had me in a full-blown panic attack. i worked at a grocery store then, so i had a box cutter with me pretty much at all times. middle of the day, right in english class. i RAN to the bathroom with that box cutter, cut on my abdomen, and felt better almost instantly. the relief almost scared me. three more times that afternoon that overwhelming compulsion overtook me, and three more times i indulged it. my mother discovered that evening (guess i wasn't too good at hiding...) and sent me to the psychiatric hospital. the hospital didn't change anything; i stopped cutting for a couple of weeks or so, but eventually returned to the release that could be found in the blade. my boyfriend of two years was nothing but understanding and supportive when he first found out, told me he wanted to know when i did so he could support me, told me he would rather i didn't. it was only recently (ie, within a month) that he disclosed to me that he, too, engaged in si, picking at nearly all wounds, playing with blades in a dangerous way. I had known for a long time that he had a strange affinity for scars, almost the opposite of many si's. he told me the first time he actually cut, he did it to try and understand my particular situation. His most recent was my name cut into his thigh (no, he's not a psyco stalker, we plan on marrying in a few years). i don't mind admitting it scared the living piss out of me, and i had a horrible sense of guilt, like i drove him to cutting because i did it (my head knows this isn't true...but emotions don't like logic). i knew he wasn't a regular cutter, and was deathly afraid of him becoming addicted to the blade, as i am. we've become each other's accountability partners in our endevor to wean ourselves from the addition to the pain and blood (in my case) or scars (in his). i'm working on my first full week since my last cut...he's working on his second. it's incredible how much knowing someone else understands helps. while this is my most personal encounter, it is not my only. during the time of rapid escalation, i turned to my close friends for support, and found that at least seven of my friends had been or were involved in si. in addition to them, looking back, i can think of many that i can suspect...but because i never tried finding out, i'll never know for sure... and i think i'll regret that for a long, long time.