I am 21 years old. Some may say that i am old enough that i should know better, but to them i say "suck my ass".

I have been cutting myself since i was 12 years old. That's almost a decade and in typing this i realise how scary that really is. I don't actually remember the first time i cut myself. I know that i am the middle child of three and that as such i should be pre-dispositioned towards a need for attention. I also know that i have had more then my fair share of really unfortunate experiences, and that that may be a factor. I am going to share some of these experiences - not as an excuse, or even as an attempt at sympathy. Simply because i want anyone who reads this, in attempt to understand their own actions or those of a loved one, to know what sort of factors can lead to it. Self Inflicted Mutilation.

dum dum duuuummmmmmm!

I'm going to try to have a sense of humour during this diatribe, simply because it is that and only that that has kept my sanity all these years. and years, and years, and years.....

I clearly remember cutting myself during my first relationship, if you can call it that. When i was 12 years old i became involved with a 14 year old who was also pre-dispositioned towards some level of self-abuse. Mainly stemming from his abusive stepfather, but honestly...

let's talk about me :P

I remember not the first cut, but the discovery of it.

I remember him finding it and yelling at me for it. At that point i was an overweight, nose-in-a-book type attending a private school and receiving mediocre marks, so the level of attention my freshly sliced skin spawned was utterly and completely new to me. He freaked.

And then he said that if that was what i wanted...
and he cut himself. It became a major factor in our relationship that we could share this forbidden act. He stopped after it became painful and/or dangerous, but continued to be affected when i did it. My most vivid memory is when he was moving from the house two blocks away from mine to a house halfway across the city. We were sitting in the old living room of his house while the movers took our their furniture. He thought i didn't care that he was moving so to show him wrong i sliced open my leg with a swiss army knife. I remember sitting there hoping that his mother wouldn't notice the blood seeping into my jeans. My parent were fighting a lot at the time and when i was at his new place i used to fall asleep a lot, because i was not sleeping a lot and was plagued by nightmares. He used to wake me up by cutting me. I still occasionally wake up looking for where i'm bleeding.

i remember after my mother had a heart attack, sitting at the dinner table in shorts, and being interrogated as to why i had cuts all over my leg and my upper arms.

I remember when my father died suddenly when i was 15. I remember sitting in my room and cutting myself with anything sharp i could find. It was the only way i could keep my mind quiet. My thoughts would race, my emotions would become too much for my body. I would literally feel that my chest was about to explode.Then i would cut myself and see the blood and know that i was in control. I gained a lot of weight right after my dad died. Then i decided to find another outlet and that was self mutilation. My mother had always said that the fact that i bit my nails so badly was an act of self mutilation, but i laugh to think of how little she actually knows and knew. I lost 50 pounds in 3 months and I would see it as a sign of strength that i would have some throbbing, panful wound on my leg or my arm and that no one would be the wiser. Because i was strong enough to hide it.

I lost my virginity against my will. My first really serious boyfriend took it from me because i didn't have the strength to tell him to fuck right off. He took my scars to be a sign of character and a sign that i was fucked up enough to be cool. He took many things from me. The most important thing was my self-respect. I was 5'7 and 110 pounds at the time and he cheated on me constantly. I didn't cut myself for a little while after that. I think i had suffered enough punishment.

Then my mother (the poor woman had lost her first boyfriend, first love, and husband - all in one) moved us to a small town. I was seriously contemplating a poem i had seen

she didn't want to move away
she didn't want to go away
she tried to die one lovely day
suicide's the only way

My friends at the time thought i was hardcore and exotic for my scars and bruises. fuck the goth community. you pissant whiny little shits.


I continued to cut myself. Badly. It was getting more severe with every cut. I remember once splitting open my thigh and watching how much blood came out and wondering if this was the one that would land me in hospital. The blood just poured out. I stood and watched it in the mirror and wondered just how much blood there is in people. I stuck some gauze on it and wrapped duct tape around my thigh. I wore it for three days. I remember a good friend of mine staring in disbelief after she had grabbed me by the upper arm, and blood started seeping through my white blouse. My new friends now knew.

When i finally moved out of my mothers house i felt so guilty that i slashed myself open and wrote myself a note

Today i leave my family

my mother depended on me a lot during those first few years, my sister went away to university and my brother was still a baby. My mother was on so much valium she could barely see straight, and i did everything for the household to keep it running. I wanted to remember the very significant moment when i decided to think of myself above others, and wrote myself a note.

I still have it.

Before i moved from the small town back to the city of my birth i woke up in the middle of the night feeling like a heroin addict who hasn't had a hit in 2 days. I was shaking and sweating and couldn't see straight. I ran to the bathroom, grabbing an x-acto on the way. I think i was drunk from the night before, i was fuzzy in general. I sliced open my upper arm.

I woke the next morning stuck to my pillow with my own blood.

I could look at the two new cuts on my arm because they made me sick. The throbbing pain was a familiar old friend ( i was 20 at this point) and gave me strength to stand up straight, proceed with the move and say goodbye to my boyfriend of then 3 years.

Incidentally, his reaction to the cuts was a shrug and an "ugh"

2 other significant boyfriends since i started with the SI started cutting themselves. I remember an awful night when my boyfriend of a year or so had had a really huge fight with his best friend because of me, and i went into the bathroom and found a cheap bic razor smashed to bits and blood everywhere. I took the exposed blade to his room, sat on his chest and screamed at him that every time he did that to himself he did THIS *slice* TO ME *slice*

i have a long keloid scar across my belly now. My total scars are as follows:

left forearm: one long diagonal slash
-keloid burn
-faint slashes

Left upper arm:
3 thick white scars
2 very thick and knotted pink keloid scars

Right shoulder/upper arm:
12 thin white slash scars
1 thick pink/white burn mark that sticks out like a mole

belly:

2 thick white slash scars

left thigh:

3 visible slash scars, one very prominent

Left breast:
various faint white scars

small of the back:
5 parallel thin white scars

nape of the neck:
2 parallel thick pink keloids

I can never wear a t-shirt in public. I can never wear a swimsuit around my family. Unless I find a miracle cure I'll never be able to wear a tank top around my future children.

And i still want to do it. It been a year without cuts, I'm very proud of that, but i still want to . The only reason i don't is because i have an active sex life with a man i really love. He saw it as a reflection of our relationship when i split open my back and i love him enough to try to save him that pain as long as i could. It wasn't just a freak out because i was doing something utterly messed to myself - it was to him a sign that he wasn't enough to make me happy. Which is very much not the case. When i saw his face after he saw my new cuts i knew what it was that i should have seen in all the faces of my past - the look of utter horror.

Not that i would do that to myself
Not the gore that ensued (and it has..)
Not that he thought it was generally gross
But that i was so very very unhappy. He cares about that, he was horrified that my misery could have escaped him. It affected his own happiness that i was still so unhappy that i could do that to myself and he has since been trying to help me with it. Not actively, but consistently.

I didn't need him to make me stop.I don't consider that i have yet, even though it's been a while. I know that as long as i want to i am not quite well. Honestly what really, really stopped me was the fact the i am vain. Scars are gross. Especially visibly self-imposed ones. You may not believe me now, but you will. When the day comes that you want to show your naked self to someone who doesn't think that being fucked up is cool, or the day when you want to wear a tank-top and realise that you can't because you have mutilated yourself, you will regret the scars. That's the first step. That's where i am now.

I can't stop wanting the pain. I can't stop wanted the external representation of an internal pain.....i can't stop wanting the blood, but i can realise that i don't want to forever be defined by this shit i have suffered for the last decade.


I meant to have a sense of humour while writing this but was unable to keep it up. I do apologise, but i hope i can lend some clarity. Many people call this "pseudo suicide" and it's not entirely inaccurate. I did it as a way of getting out things i couldn't get out otherwise and often it was the only solution to suicidal thoughts because i knew that i actually wanted to see my 20's, 30's and 40s'but needed a fix.Quite honestly the most effective cure i have found is kinky sex that involves some level of masochistic tendency - but they are performed upon me by a man that loves me so i know it will never go beyond a certain point.


Many people, including, obviously myself, feel that they need punishment for some action or attitude. I guess the important thing is punishing yourself in a way that won't hurt your loved ones.

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so there's my piece, responses, comments are welcome.