I've played the pain game since I can remember. When I was mad at my mom or dad or brother or anyone else, I would squeeze my arms as hard as I could. It always left bruises, not because I was strong, but because I have such pale skin.

I lost my virginity when I was 8 years old. My mom knew and didn't care, apparently. It went on for 3 years.

I'm a crazy girl, ask anyone. I can never sit still, always happy, never sad. I'm never without my jester's mask, and maybe that's the reason I cut.

My grandmother was up and about till a month before her death. That's when life went to hell.

My dad spent a lot of nights at my grandparents' house the last month. My mom didn't like this. When my dad came home after a night there, she would yell at him about what SHE was going through, how he was making it so hard for HER. My grandmother died the day of my dress rehearsal.

The funeral was 3 days later. I put on a black dress and my mom came in, yelling that I looked cheap. She threw a pair of shoes at me and broke my lamp. Then she yelled at me to clean it up and change.

I cleaned up the glass pieces but kept the last one and looked at it. Then I cut my left arm, not bad, but enough to draw blood.

I took apart razors and kept the blades to cut my stomach everywhere I could. One night, out with my friends and a bottle of vodka and a six-pack, I went crazy and grabbed a knife. I started cutting my hand. One of my friends and my brother tried to wrestle it away from me, but I had the handle, so I won. I cut as much as I could, which was not much at all, before they finally got it away from me. They bandaged up my hand, but I ripped them off and scratched at the cuts so they would bleed more. After a few minutes, and ended up passed out on the floor after lots of screaming and kicking if anyone touched me. They told me later that I had to stop cutting or they wouldn't let me drink with them anymore.

My mom found my blades not long after that. She yelled at me because she cut her finger on them.

I told two friends about the cutting. I lifted up my shirt and showed one friend under the bleachers after track practice and he hugged me tight and told me he loved me, and everything would be okay. Another friend thinks I'm a freak and avoids me. Another friend figured it out on her own, after my arm-cutting incident. She just looked sad and told me she wished I wouldn't do that.

Do I still cut? Of course I do. What kind of question is that? Girls don't cry... so I cut.