This is where I feel really selfish and pathetic. See, I don't know why I feel this was, why I hurt myself, it can be anything from boredom, being upset, to drunkenness, anything... I was never abused, raped... I don't come from a broken home and up until recently I've always had a number of friends too but I really just can't help feeling lonely.

Support from my family is one thing I have never had and I guess that is where all this started.

I'm sure you've all heard cutters deny the desire was suicide, and that's true, cutting isn't attempted suicide. But mine was... I was sixteen and had had yet another fight with my dad and the razor looked do appealing, so I took it and ran it across my wrist (of course, inexperience had led me to do it the wrong way!). As soon as I saw the blood, felt the pain, I knew I had to stop. I thought I was scared. I didn't realise until later that I hadn't stopped out of pain or fear but because I had felt better. I liked it!

I told my then-best-friend Karen what I had done the next day. She told me she understood. I didn't tell her I liked it. I promised never to do it again.

That's where the lies started.

I didn't talk or think about it anymore after that. At least not for a couple of months. Me and a friend were sitting in class when we decided it would be *fun* to carve words and symbols on our skin, so we got some needles, knife, glass whatever and would draw our shapes, pentagrams, ankhs, stuff like that. We'd work on our *art* at night then at school the next day we would show off our latest designs. We thought it was cool. It was just a piece of harmless fun. I still didn't fully realise how much I liked it.

From then, the details are a little fuzzy. I remember I stopped the carving and started hiding my scars.

People didn't like it, they reacted badly. I must've known this though, 'cause I never let my parents find out.

Ask someone who self-injures and most will know exactly where/why/when all the details of their first cut. [unfortunately] I can't remember. I don't know what triggered me, I don't remember anything about it. All I remember is that it was all very addictive.

It became a regular thing for me, whenever I was feeling upset, lonely, bored I would run the razor over my arm and bleed until the early hours. The severity became worse. I have never had stitches but I often think a lot of the cuts should have had them. They leave the worst scars. I hid them. I never told a single person and it got worse. After six months (and I can't remember how) a friend found out and I confessed. Now that I knew I had someone that knew and was trying to *help*, I felt more relaxed. I was less protective of my secret.

This friend eventually managed to persuade me to see my doctor. The doctor took one look at my arms, one look at me and wrote out a prescription. She also referred me to a psychiatrist who I still see.

I didn't want the tablets so I managed to convince my doctor I was feeling better and after 4/5 months I was off. I had convinced myself into thinking I was better too and actually went 127 days without cutting but I realised I wasn't any better and it wasn't long after that before I fell again.

I was away with my boyfriend (yes, despite my mood swings and suicidal behaviors I did find someone to love me - and we're still together!!) and a bunch of his mates for a few days and everything turned sour. Everyone was arguing and falling out and everything was so tense. Me and Rob argued. I couldn't fight it anymore. Next morning I found myself in the shower with a razor in my arm. Everything I'd built up for months was finally out.

I ended up telling Rob and he was okay although upset, He said he was proud of me and it was just a slip. I knew it wasn't. I didn't want to stop anymore. It was too hard, she gave me more tablets, Fluoxetine, and I started seeing Dr Bonnar again. I've told my parents I'm cutting again (they found out first time round from my school), and although upset they're being okay about it.

Sometimes I would like to stop, I know it is damaging. I'm covered in ugly yet beautiful scars, Although I wish I hadn't started cutting I wouldn't swap my scars for anything. They are part of me.I'm not ready to stop yet.