Ok, so I read all of these stories, and it got me thinking how lucky I am that I never went through anything like you guys. I never went through abuse= from my parents, or my parents weren't drug dealers or anything. I didn't get raped. I'm just your average kid that randomly got depressed.

I wasn't depressed when I started though. I was about 11.It was just a pretty little star pattern that I carved into my arm with a safety pin. After I did it, I told my best friend, and she didn't think it was wrong or anything. No one did. So one night I invited her over and we cut each other. We started patterns on our arms, but then got lazy and finished them for each other. We called them "tattoos without the ink." We knew enough that we knew we shouldn't tell our parents. We wore sweatshirts until the deep cuts went away. (They were deep because we did them for each other, and we didn't know how deep we were actually cutting each other.) After that I didn't do it for a really long time.

It was maybe a year and a half later I started again. I don't remember how I heard about cutting. Usually when people first hear about it they think it's really weird. But I really wasn't. I didn't think it was a bad thing to do. A normal human could do it. I saw that. Anyways, my friend lent me the book Cut by Patricia McCormick. After I read that, I knew what we were doing earlier was cutting. I didn't put two and two together, that putting symbols into your skin was really self mutilating. I don't like that term. Self Mutilation. Sorry, I get side tracked sometimes. Anyways the night I finished the book, I took a safety pin, and made two fresh scars. Everybody when they talk about cutting, say how the blood pouring out makes them feel better. Heres why I'm different. I don't bleed. I'm really really not a bleeder. I cut really deep once, and only a few drops came out. I really want the blood. It just doesn't come though. At first I thought it was my technique but after I tried bits of glass, razor blades, my nails, knives, and everything together, I knew that i just don't bleed.

After the friend that had lent me the book, confessed me that she was a cutter, I told her I was one too. She told me that her friend had given it to her to get her to stop. I thought that was funny because it actually made me start. I told my best friend that we did so long ago was cutting. She said wow. She started again too. Later, and to this day. I felt guilty about telling her that. Then maybe she wouldn't have started again.

A whole lot later, cutting was spreading like wild fire around our school. I say maybe a fourth of our school, cuts, used to cut, thought about cutting, or was close to it. Everyone knows someone who does.

Every once in a while, I think I've stopped cutting, but then later I always start again. One time was when my close friend started crying after she found out, and was begging me not to, because it hurt her, and she didn't want to lose me. That was like a fucking reality slap. But later I only started again. Another time was when I was talking to the guy I've loved since 4th grade. No he is not my boyfriend. That part is not happy. Him and all the other guys I've liked, never liked me back. Distant friends is the closest I come. This particular guy I loved, and was the hardest because he is four years older than me. He read it in my profile. He thought I was doing it for attention. To come off as "punk". As much as I love that boy, he could be really stupid sometimes. Now this one thing he said to me, made me really angry, and I stopped being as obsessed with him as I usually am for a month or two. He told me he thought I was telling my friends to do it. As fucking if. I would never do anything to hurt my friends. They are the world to me, and they are the reason i've stayed alive all this time. If I ever found myself in a position where I was telling a friend to cut themselves.