When I was little, probably around 8 or 9 years old, is when I first heard about self-injury. I think I heard just about people cutting themselves (as opposed to burning or other types of si); cutting their wrists, to be specific. At times, I wanted to try it, but was too scared.

When I was 9, I saw my mom sitting on the living room sofa cutting her wrists with a razor. I don't remember if I thought she was trying to kill herself or not. I knew the cuts were too superficial, so somehow I guess I knew she wasn't trying to kill herself.

My mom went in and out of the hospital a lot when I was little. Starting around when I was 8 years old. I think that's the first place I heard about self-injury. Then when I was 10, I went into the hospital myself. I'm fairly certain I heard about self-injury while I was in the hospital. We were all told that people do it for attention; but now I know that's bullshit, otherwise we wouldn't hide it.

I was in the hospital in February, March, and one of the early summer months of 1995. In July, I moved from living with my parents in Philadelphia to living with my grandparents in Rockport, IN. In July of 1996 I moved back with my parents, this time to Baltimore. I don't think I thought about self-injury much at all until I went back into the hospital in the fall of 1996.

In the hospital, I'm pretty sure we heard a lot about the issue of self-injury. I was in the hospital multiple times in the winter/early spring of 6th grade. In 7th grade, after a brief well-period in the fall, I started going back into the hospital. I also went into a day hospital this time, and my third time there I actually *met* someone who SI'ed.

One night, after a therapy session at the day hospital, I was sitting in my parents' car outside the building, and I was feeling really depressed. I took a grape soda can from the floor and tore it in half, and started sawing at my wrists. I was 12. That was the first time I SI'ed.

Over the months, I kept thinking about cutting and wanting to try it. Really try it. But I didn't. Once I read an article in Seventeen magazine about girls who take compasses and literally carve designs into their ankles, then pick at the scabs so that the designs leave scars. I wanted to try that, but I was too afraid of the pain.

One day in the spring, when I was 13, I had a friend sleep over. She and my brother and I were sitting outside on my front porch watching the sun come up (we had stayed up all night) and playing with incense. I took it and started burning a pentacle into the palm of my left hand. I told them I was "possessed." I felt more like I was dissociating. But I didn't have that word in my vocabulary yet, otherwise I'm sure I would have used it.

Finally, in the winter when I was 13, one night I had been fighting with my family. I fought with my family often then. I was in my room and ran down the hall to the bathroom, grabbed my razor I used for shaving, took it back to my room, and started slicing "chunks" of skin out of my left forearm. My mom came into my room, saw my arm, and I ended up IP again.

About a year and a half later, I moved again, this time with my mom and brother to Mobile, AL. I hadn't SI'ed since that happened, at least I don't think I did, maybe I did a little. But after a month after that happened, I don't think I thought about it at all. Not until I was 16 and in the 10th grade.

It was February I think (might have been January), and I was 16 and a sophomore in high school. I had just been diagnosed with OCD in October after having it since I was four. It was acting up a little at the time. I took my mom's razorblade and cut straight lines all over my hands--top and bottom, from my wrists, down to my fingertips--in the exact same pattern on both hands. I told my mom and my psychiatrist that it was because of my OCD.

And, that was the first time I actually "cut." That was when I started cutting.