My name is Jessica, I remember the day i first picked up a straightedge. I was in 9th grade. I was the outcast of my family, the one everyone treated differently. But I can't say that I wasn't loved, it just felt otherwise most of the time. I was overweight when I was in middle school. I think at that time I had a lot of self esteem issues, and being overweight and the middle child of three girls did not help. I decided to change my life when I was in 8th grade, because I wanted to lose some weight. So I joined the cross country team at the high school. That summer I also decided that I would stop eating and I lost a little over 20 pounds. I was skinny, for the first time in a long time and it felt SO good. But I still felt inadequate.

When boys would ask me out, I always felt like they were just doing it to make fun of me. That there was just no way that they actually thought I was good enough to go out with them. Also, my sisters would gang up against me. I know that sounds childish, but I always felt like I was on my own. If there was anything sisterly to be done, they did it together, while I was left out. I was naturally more independent than they were anyway, I always wanted to do things by myself rather than have help from anyone. My older sister and I used to fight ALL the time. We would go at it, screaming and physically fighting. WHY? I don't even remember...something mundane I'm sure. Getting back to the story, I can remember my mom yelling at me to do something, a common occurrence in my house, and I was pissed. We got into a screaming fight and I ended up in my room. I turned around and locked the door. I picked up this straightedge I had out from a project, and I cut the inside of my forearm several times. There was an instant release. I felt like I was punishing her, as I was punishing myself. I just kept thinking, "look what you made me do". I guess that's a little crazy, considering she didn't actually MAKE me take that straightedge and cut my arm...but it felt good. Partially because it was something that I felt like I shouldn't be doing, but also because it actually was calming for me. That was six years ago. Since then I've cut myself hundreds of times. It's always been under control though, I've never had to get stitches or anything, although I should have had them a few times. My family doesn't have the slightest clue that anything is wrong, and I wouldn't have it any other way. I had a boyfriend for nearly 4 years. He knew all about my "habits" as we called them. Neither of us could bring ourselves to say my cuts, because it seemed too real. By referring to my problems as "habits", it seemed to take the sting off of what I was actually doing. It upset/upsets him so much to know that I cut. I felt like I ripped his heart out the night I finally told him and he cried. He had already suspected that I did because he'd seen band aids on my arms, the fact that I'd wear long sleeves when it was 95 degrees outside. But I literally broke his heart. And even though he promised not to tell anyone, he told my best friend, Heidi!! Normally, It wouldn't have been that big of a deal. But it's how I found out that Heidi knew that was so upsetting. We had spanish together our senior year first period. I walked into class one day and looked at her arms. There were perfectly straight lines all over the outside of her forearms, and they were DEEP. (mine was on the inside) I could not believe it. I was in shock, I pieced it together pretty quickly, although she had an excuse (she was playing softball and a ball went way under this scratchy bush and she had to reach to get it out). BULLSHIT. I didn't confront her about it at first. I waited about a week. I needed time to think. We talked on instant messenger ALL the time, that's where I had first told my boyfriend. I asked my boyfriend, well actually I read some of his email, because he saved important conversations, and I actually read their conversation talking about me. It said all this bullshit about how I was crazy, and they were going to get help for me, and they couldn't believe that I would/could do that to myself. I was so upset because I finally realized that it was my fault that Heidi cut herself. Then of course she liked it so she started doing it more. She said when she first found out about it she thought it was the most fucked up thing she ever heard, so she thought she would try it to see if she could understand. Finally after about a year, and because her boyfriend was freaking out, she stopped, and hasn't started since. Once, her boyfriend, one of my friends, actually sat down and talked to me about her cutting. He said he didn't understand it and she wouldn't talk to him, and he didn't know what to do about it. He was clearly upset, and I was about to burst into tears because he didn't even know that the whole situation was all my fault. To this day I feel terrible that I caused her to experiment with it, and she still has horrible scars on the outside of her arms, which are very noticeable. There has been several close calls about people finding out about my "habits". I've always been pretty good about having an excuse. I've only ever cut my thighs once, I usually stay right on the inside of my forearms, right next to my elbow. This makes hiding the scars really easy, because that part of my arm is never really exposed anyway. Not to mention I've pretty much grown accustomed to keeping that part of my arm next to my body when I have cuts. It's not that there's been one incident in my life that has set off this self destructive behavior, because I know that's what it is...when I was really young one of my guy friends pressured me into some sexual acts that I was in no way ready for, but I was never raped or abused seriously. I can't say I've lead a rough life. My parents are happily married, although my dad works himself to death, and this is really stressful for me. My sisters and I get along pretty well, now that we've gotten older. That boyfriend I referred to and I broke up 2 months ago, and that's been very stressful. Also, I recently transferred colleges, and this one is much harder than the last one. I've just felt displaced recently. I'm seeing this other guy now. I talked to my doctor about maybe talking with someone. It probably would be a good thing. She suggested medication. She doesn't know about "habits". She just thinks I'm stressed out or have anxiety or depression. I'm not sure really what to do from here. I guess just go on with life. I've done it before. I still cut. Not as much as I once did, it comes in stages for me. I would NEVER recommend someone to start SIing, there is nothing pleasant or fun about it. It's dangerous and addictive. I think it's comparable to a drug, it can produce a euphoric effect after a stressful event. But for those of you who haven't cut, or who are thinking of doing it, I strongly advise against it. It seemed exciting to me when I first did it. But soon you change, and that becomes the only way you know how to deal with adverse situations. I can't believe it's been six years. I wish I knew how to handle my stress and negative feelings better. I don't feel like I'm one of those people that are just "crazy". Although I have my moments when I doubt my sanity, for the most part I feel like SI is just a small part of me. It doesn't define me. And it shouldn't define anyone, because there is so much more to life than being depressed and self injuring. I feel like I'm sounding like a hypocrite, because I am depressed. But I have good days and bad days. Some days I feel like I can't get our of bed, I am passively resistant. I just prefer not do so some things. Other days I feel like I can do anything that I want. Lately it's been the former, but that's also why I wrote out this whole story, to perhaps explain some of the insanity in my life and clear my head, and it worked because i'm feeling a little better. That's all I have to say really. I just hope that other people realize that SI is not an answer, yes it helps you deal with things, but soon it becomes just another problem, an obsession, something to dwell over when it feels like you have nothing else left that will comfort you.