I debated on this for a while, writing out the things that have happened, and finally came to a decision that it would be for the best, so here I go. I have been cutting since I was eleven, and even before then I would pour hot wax onto my arms and legs. It was always just something I did to help deal with my parents' drug abuse, alcoholism, and general violence in my direction. Not to mention the responsibility of raising my little sister, as my parents were too cracked out to take care of themselves, much less any child.

After a couple of years, I couldn't take it anymore, and I moved out to live with my grandparents. But when I arrived here, I found it to be little better than the situation I had just left. My grandfather, who I did love deeply, had no personal qualms about using brute force to get his point across. That's when I began to cut.

I found a box cutter blade on the floor, and for some reason I cut myself with it. I can't really remember the process of thought, as it was six years ago, all I can remember is how everything just went away. There was just me and that blade. It became a regular thing for me, almost every day, but I was and am careful. I never got caught. Then I found a friend who did the same thing, and I thought it was just amazing, because I didn't have to be alone in it anymore. But I still found it hard to relate to her how I felt. Then, in freshmen year, I had the worst thing I could fathom happen.

My mother attempted to kill herself on an overdose of heroin, and when I went into school that morning, I had the only people I cared about tell me that the sight of me made them sick, and to stay away from them. On that day I had my first mental breakdown. I collapsed in the bathroom and a teacher found me after I had missed the first half of class. After that I became anti-social, and cutting became a very large part of my life. I didn't care about getting caught anymore, I didn't care about anything, to be honest. I simply prayed that a car would hit me as I crossed the street. Anything that would get rid of that horrible numbness that had taken over.

Sophomore year, I met Mar. She was exactly like me, almost. The key differences: She had friends, a good family, and not a self induced scar on her body. We became fast friends. And cutting became more and more distant, but then this year, everything changed. She and I began to fight constantly, and I began to resemble my old, apathetic self. I began to see a therapist and a psychiatrist and they discovered my self mutilation. They sent me to a mental hospital where I was doped up on so much medication, I slept for nearly four days the first day they gave it to me. After a while of me telling them what I wanted them to hear, they let me go.

They diagnosed me as having bipolar disorder, Anxiety, Chronic Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and couple of other things, I have really stopped paying attention. My mother gets out of prison this year, and she wants to rekindle our relationship. I want her to stay away. My father, the most abusive, gets out as well. He also wants to come here. I want to be left alone, at least by them. Along with my doctors, I'm praying for something better, but I'm beginning to think that I will never be a 'recovered' cutter.