I was in the sixth grade when I first started cutting myself. I was picked on a lot, and hated it because I had not many friends. I was in the school bathroom at recess and wanted to know if it would really help with my problems. I took out a sharp pencil and started cutting quickly. I did this twice, but decided it didn't help. I didn't have enough problems to need something to comfort me from them. I did this again in seventh grade, during class. I was in science and way in the back away from every one. I was so upset and ready to burst out into tears, so I cut to keep me from crying. After around the third day the teacher caught me, but I denied it every time he brought it up. After that day, I stopped. I moved that year from California to Missouri. And it was hard to cope with the moving at first. I cried so hard every night and my mom just ignored me. later I made friends, but by that time I had to move again. This time it was to Louisiana, where I currently live. I hate it here and wish I weren't even on the face of Earth any more. About 3 weeks ago, I started cutting myself again. Only this time, it's not with pencils. I use knifes and razors. Every time I start to cry, I cut. Even if I feel like crying I cut. I play flute, sing, and write and I can't help but feel I'm bad at all three of them. My boyfriend puts every thing about me down and I can't break up with him, because every one else will judge me. My mom puts me down too. She's just like the kids at my first middle school. I told her about the scars two weeks ago and vowed to stop. A few days ago a teacher saw the scars and sent me to the counselor. I couldn't stop crying and desperately wanted a knife. She was driving me insane with trying to make me talk. I tried to tell her that I don't know why I do it, I just do. She didn't believe me at all and at that point I didn't care. That made me feel worse. I just want to die now, and feel like there is no reason to really live. I started cutting again, today. I felt so much better. My mom and I had an argument and she said she didn't care if I did, or not. She kept putting me down about it, so when I went into my room to clean it, I took out my knife and cut. Just the sight of it made me feel better. I stopped crying right then and finally felt in control. I don't want to stop, and they can't make me.