The first time I heard about self-harm I was 13. My friend, Jacky, had just been left by her boyfriend and I went over to her place to give her a shoulder to cry on. She was wearing a long sleeved top, even though it was June. I really took no notice of it until she pulled up her sleeves and had an interesting range of cuts on her left arm. When I asked her about it she broke down and told me she'd cut herself. I called her a freak and avoided her as much as possible after that. Only now, three years later I understand how horrible I was that day. Because now I'm in her position.

It started when I was 15. My Aunt passed away and I couldn't get to see her as she lives abroad. I was going out with a total loser and my O-Levels were around the corner, and I was still contemplating when I should start studying. I was feeling alone and depressed. No one could understand me. The above mentioned problems and the thoughts of my late dad (who passed away when I was 4) got to me. I have no idea why I did it, Why I headed for the kitchen got the knife and started slashing at my arms. I myself had declared that such things were for freaks. Yet cutting myself made me feel in control, powerful, and better. It calmed me down and my frustration and pain seemed to disappear. I slept well that night, feeling satisfied. After that it became a habit. If I felt a bit down I'd cut at myself. When summer arrived I had no choice but to calm down, so I'd scratch at myself in threes, three cut and tell people I'd scratched myself in my sleep if they asked. No one seemed to notice and it was a relief. When times were good, and I wasn't stressed, I didn't really have an urge to cut so I didn't. When I started Junior College (Equivalent to High School) I seemed to fit in and make friend pretty easily so I didn't cut for about four months. But around Christmas, the time my dad had gotten ill, I couldn't help myself and I once again pulled out the knife and enjoyed my self a little. I had 24 cuts in all. My mum noticed immediately but I told her that I was fine. She seemed to believe me, or maybe she was ashamed of owning a 'freak'. After Christmas, My best friend, Romina, broke her leg and was in intensive care. I added to the cuts. Before long I had 47 of them. When she noticed after she got out of hospital she was so upset about it she threatened to start cutting to unless I stopped. She was only joking but for a while I believed her. I was good for three months. Then I cracked again as I was doing bad at School and having problems with my boyfriend. I cut again, 35 cuts in one go always only trustworthy left arm. When he saw them he told me I was an attention seeker and asked me to stop. I did and I was clean for 6 months, until today. I've cut myself again today. Luckily it's just 2 tiny cut with a key. I'm gagging to go on to 40 cuts in one go but I can't carry on cutting myself like that forever. I've got enough scars to last anyone a lifetime. They're also quite visible and it gets embarrassing when people ask me what they are.

I'd like to let everyone know three things: I'm not a freak, I'm not an attention seeker, I'm not suicidal. Everyone labels self harmers as these three things, yet they're so wrong. If I were a freak I'd be walking about naked, wearing nothing but a thong and screaming "I'm John Lennon" in the heart of New York, not writing this. If I was seeking attention I'd be trying to look like some outrageous pop star, not cutting and hurting my own self. And If I were suicidal I would have killed myself long ago. Some one once said: "Self harm is not about ending your life, it's about feeling better". It's so true.