Hi, I'm John and I'm 16. I'm pretty smart, generally getting A's and B's in school.
I cut, burn, and pick scabs.

After reading through all these stories, I kinda feel less alone, which is important in my opinion. There still exists the vast void within me, forged by the hatred I received by so many. I appreciate all those who put their story here for others to read. It helps to know that there are people out there that feel/felt the same as I do. I am sharing my story so that others may find that they may be able to relate to my feelings, thus making them feel somewhat less alone. Feeling alone is a terrible way to live, I know this all too well... Also, if you are considering SI-ing, PLEASE DON'T. It is terribly addicting and can get out of control VERY easily. There is a great deal of better alternatives (such as songwriting, which I do very much); I wish I never started this. It controls me and it is rough to stop even for a week (which I haven't been able to, not even for 3 days). The lying that has to be done to conceal what truly happened can get to you. It has gotten to me and I feel bad that I lie about those things but I don't think that those who I lie to would understand or if they did, they would send me to a hospital and I really don't want that. Also, you can become paranoid, always wondering if somebody knows your secret...and then what they are thinking.... I apologize for the length, I just need to get out some of these things, but there are still things inside that I cant say because it hurts too much to say.

Ok, since I can remember, I always would pick at any scabs that would appear on me. I don't remember why I started, but I think that since I did that, it led to the more serious SI issues. I would get the normal cuts and scrapes that would be expected while playing, but now on my arms and legs there are many scars that never would have existed or been as bad if I had left them alone. Well, as I went outside less and less (I'll explain why soon) there were less scabs to pick, so I started to 'accidentally' get cut or scraped while I was working. I believe that then it would make me feel good due to the pain. Sure it sounds crazy, but to those who are victim to self-injury, it is understandable. In 7th grade, I was feeling bad, I saw a razor for shaving on the ledge of the bathtub, and I picked it up and ran it across one of my knuckles. It hurt, but in a weird sense, I liked it. It diverted my mind from my pain. It started bleeding (for those of you who have accidentally cut yourself with a razor, you know how they bleed and seem not to want to stop) but I was somehow intrigued by it and I ran the razor across the rest of my knuckles except for my thumbs. They all bled, but they wouldn't stop, so I panicked and made up some story to explain it to my parents and they believed it. They stopped the bleeding and I forgot the relief that I obtained from it for a few years. I still have a few scars remaining from that but they are small and fading. I remembered sometime between October and November of 2005, after a argument with my mom, I cut myself on my thumb. It was a shallow cut and very short, minimal blood but it hurt, and again the flow of relief came. That sensation is the main cause in the difficulty of quitting. I stopped cutting on the thumb for the obvious reason that it is difficult to conceal. I moved to my shoulder, a nice place since no matter what season it is, there is clothing that covers it that is normally worn. Only problem I see is that I have a pool and I don't want the scars to be seen. I know they won't scar too bad since they are shallow, but lately I start going a little deeper and moving to the upper arm and I am getting tempted to go for the wrists, a bad choice since I have a ton of stress and severe depression (undiagnosed) and lately, an unwillingness to live quite often. I do have very few people who know and some are actively trying to help me.


I'd like to take this opportunity to share with you my feelings about SI and the scars from SI in the form of a poem I wrote:

Scars
A constant reminder of what I've done
Forged by pain and suffering
Hidden from the eyes of all
They each have their own tale to tell
As much as I want to quit,
There is something deep inside that holds me back
With every pain I feel, another is created to record the feeling
So I am trapped with these memories of days I need to forget
But as long as I shall live,
I'll have the scars to remember all the pain I've felt

All right now that I've told all that stuff, let me tell of my life that gave and continues to give me so much pain. Before I do that however, I have to say that I can't remember so much of my past. It is very frustrating b/c I would like to know what I have lived, but at the same time, there are memories repressed that im sure I don't want to remember.
Ok, onto the story.
My problems started back in first grade. It was then that I was the lucky one selected to be the one that most people hated for no reason that I was ever given. They bullied me with the crap that hurt back then. This progressed every year all the way to the very end of 8th grade. I never told anyone that it was happening. I thought I could take it on my own and I didn't want to tell people b/c I thought they would be mad at me for some reason. All I had to do was put on my fake smile and pretend everything was ok. It worked and still does when the act holds up. I started hating everyone in middle school. It was there that everything got worse. The bus was in all essentiality, hell. It was when I started hating everyone that I went outside less and less. I figured that if I went out less, that people wouldn't have the opportunities to tell me how bad I was. Somewhere at the end of 7th or 8th grade, my parents noticed a change in me (I wish they didn't) and started asking a billion questions. Basically, I told them that people bullied me since 1st grade. What I got out of that conversation was that it was MY fault b/c I could have told someone when it started and it could have been prevented. I already hated myself so much and that didn't help. I didn't tell them that for two years I didn't want to live (end of 6th to the end of 8th). Most days I didn't care (and wanted) if something happened to me and I died. Other days, I wanted to kill myself. The only reason I am still alive is that if I kneeled in front of a train or jumped in front of a car, the driver of the train or car would have to live with the guilt of killing someone. I didn't want to do that to someone. I couldn't slit my wrists like I wanted to because I didn't want my mom to have to clean up the blood. Only reasons. Scary, but true. High school got better with bulling, the kid that started almost all of this bullying didn't go to the same school, and others didn't want to do it anymore. The effects still existed and still do. I can't stand being myself. I hate myself with a passion. I hate the thing I have become. Anyway, I think it was in January of 2005 that my mom told me that my dad (I am adopted, at the age of 2 ?, so this is my father by adoption, but I still love him so much and it feels like I'm losing another father) had ALS (A.K.A. Lou Gherigs Disease) which is terminal and it kills your body by weakening your muscles and nerves and all that stuff, while your mind knows what's happening. I was devastated, but again I kept it inside. I don't like to cry. For me, I see it as accomplishing nothing in myself, but fully push it in other people. Back when I first found out, it wasn't as evident as it is now. He can't walk well (he is in his 50's), he needs a walker, he fell weeks ago and broke his arm. He barely can talk. He cries often. That is hard for me to handle. I feel guilty for feeling this way, but I can't help it. With all the stresses in my house (with my dad, I have a handicapped sister, and the regular stresses of everyday life) my mom is kinda easily upset, by pretty much nothing. I get into tons of arguments with her b/c I am short tempered by all that has happened in my life and the stress im under. Whenever we have a big argument, I go and get my silver savior: my knife. I hate that I rely on it to help me. I did have about 3 or 4 people trying to help me a few months ago, but now there is only one that actually seems to care that I do this. Her name is Svet. She also SI's and has done it longer than I have. I made her promise that she would stop, and she is working diligently to stop. She says I'm the only reason she is stopping. I wish she would stop for herself too. She is my BEST friend because I trust her more than any other friend and she didn't turn away from me when I need support. The other friends that know, well one said that they couldn't help b/c in talking with me; they realized that they had their own problems that they haven't resolved. But I think it is best that way, 'cause people were starting to think I liked her (in terms of a gf) which I didn't and still don't, and that was stressful for me. And my other friend, well I really don't know what's going on in her head.

I really don't know where to fit this in the main story so I'm putting separate. As with many other SI-ers, I have a history of abuse. Its not as bad as many of the stories, but when it is added to the rest of the shit in my life, its pretty bad. I remember that in the past, if I did something wrong, (i.e. talking in the wrong tone of voice) that (mostly my dad) would hit me. It would be like a smack to whereever was closest to him. I feared him so much, but told nobody. Recently, I remembered a few memories that I suppressed a long time ago and with good reason. I went into a panic attack when I remembered them. The first was when I was in 5th or early 6th grade. I said something in the wrong tone of voice and it wasn't the correct thing to say to my mom. (I cant remember what it was, but I sure as HELL didn't deserve what happened) my dad happened to hear and came into the kitchen all yelling at me and swearing (he swore since I knew him, that's where I learned it form). I remember he yelled at me saying, "Get on your hands and knees and BEG for forgiveness from your mother!" Me, I was crying b/c I was scared like hell, didn't, so he pushed me forcibly to the ground while screaming at me. I wish I never remembered that. The other memory was when dad was mad at me again (I don't remember when this was), and I was so scared that I huddled up on the ground in the hallway. He was screaming at me and then he started to basically kick me down the hall. I understand why I repressed these memories. I wish I still didn't remember them. I wont tell my parents that I remembered these things. Why? Simply because when dad gets angry, he does whatever and then its done, he forgets most of what happened. And mom, she would deny it, to make dad sound better. Now im not saying they are bad people, but there were bad times. I am afraid of what other memories may be suppressed and I don't really want to remember them if they are of the same nature....I get mad at myself anytime I start to get very mad at my parents. I feel that I must have been/be so terrible that they had/have to do/say things like what has happened. It is times like that when I'm fighting myself about those things that I cut myself.

I need to stop b/c one day, if I am in a suicidal state, I just may end up killing myself. I realize that that may be what I want, but what it would do to my family and friends, like Svet.... Right now I fear that im going back into a state like I was for two years. A weekend ago I found myself putting the knife to my wrist trying to figure out if that would be the best thing to do, this happened at least 6 times on that weekend. I've caught myself in that situation quite often. Anyway, I NEVER will tell my dad that I SI. The way he is now, (with the ALS) he most likely will blame it all upon himself, and although he played a role in quite a few of my issues, I don't want him to blame himself. I'd rather blame myself, like I do. If he finds out, I don't think I could live with myself.... and I don't think mom would understand. My other sister (the one not handicapped) wouldn't understand either and would throw it in my face every time we had a problem. So, I will struggle in silence at home and rely on this site and my friend(s) and myself to quit.
Thank you for your time. I hope if you were thinking of SI, that you won't, and if you do SI, you will stop or at least not feel alone. I will leave you with a few suggestions:
1) don't ever start SI-ing if you haven't already
2) If you SI, stop, please
3) Don't blame yourself for everything
4) Don't keep everything inside

I don't want anyone else to feel the way I do.