As a young child I had a good life. I had a home, parents who loved me, an older sister, friends, education, et cetera. I still have a good life, and I feel like I shouldn't have the right to need this. In kindergarten, I met one of my best friends, Leslie*. In third grade, I met my other best friend, Charlene*. I was happy. I could tell these girls anything. We were inseparable.

In fourth and fifth grade, I began unintentionally leaving Leslie for Charlene. Apparently she was mad at me for that. In sixth grade I got separated from Leslie and spent all my time with Charlene. In seventh grade, we were all at the same school again, and I thought things would be fine. They weren't. Things started getting rocky in December of seventh grade. I continually insulted Charlene's boyfriend, Nick*. Finally Charlene became pissed off and cut off our friendship. I was devastated. I begged and pleaded until January when I finally said, "I'd rather die than live without you." She didn't believe me. I was so angry, so sad, so hurt that when I took a shower that night I cut my wrists.

The next day, Charlene called me a suck-up. I held back my tears and rolled up my sleeves and asked "Does that look suck-up-ish to you?" She stared at me, horrified by what I'd done, and I broke down. "I'm so sorry," I sobbed, over and over again. "I'll be your friend again. Just promise me you'll never ever do this again," she said. I promised her that, but she told our math teacher anyway.

A few days later I was informed that Charlene's dad wasn't allowing her to be my friend. I cried and cried all day, sobbing "I'm fine" to anyone who asked. During band, I was sent down to the counselor's office. I had to stop crying, pronto. "Some people have informed me that you've been hurting yourself," Mrs. Johnson* said to me. "They're very worried about you. Have you been hurting yourself?" I just shook my head, unable to speak and started rolling up my sleeves. "You don't have to prove it to me. You look like you're about to turn on the water works." At this point I couldn't even breathe or I'd start to cry. I just stayed silent as she walked me back to the band room. As soon as I got out of the band room I started crying again.

About a week after the counselor incident, Leslie stopped speaking to me. I didn't know why, and after begging and pleading for days, she finally said, "In fourth grade you replaced me with Charlene." I couldn't handle this. I couldn't handle having both my best friend cut off their friendship with me. About a week after that I thought to myself, "Fuck it. Charlene's not my friend anymore anyway," and grabbed a pair of scissors and cut myself.

It's been a year and I'm now fourteen, but I still haven't gotten over the losses of Leslie and Charlene. Leslie and I are finally patching things up again, but things will never be the same again. I know that I should be happy, and that I have no reason to be sad, but I can't keep from being sad almost all the time. Cutting has become an addiction and I disappoint many when I do cause myself harm, but I can't seem to quit and, honestly, I don't want to.

* All names have been changed