I am a self injurer. I suppose I've always been one. when i was young, i would cry and my parents would yell at me "WHY ARE YOU CRYING?" and i wouldn't answer and they'd scream "ILL GIVE YOU A REASON TO CRY" and whack me with a wooden paddle. i would also slam my head against walls and floors, pull my hair out, and tear apart my skin when I was upset. But that was all when I was younger.

when i was 13, something happened i am the only person who knows what happened, and i wont tell anyone. but what happened sent me into a depression. i had no way to cope with the emotional pain i was fighting, except for writing and drawing. then, one night, i took a large thumbtack and pressed it into my arm and dragged it. when i saw the blood, i felt calmer, so i did it some more. i did it about 20 times. the next day i showed them to my friends, and they flipped out. then the cuts healed. it was fall, and one day i wore a white long-sleeved shirt under my dashboard confessional T-shirt (so no one would see my scars). i guess i forgot about them, because in social studies, i rolled up my sleeves. My teacher was in front of my desk lecturing us and he looked at my arm and saw them. I noticed this and pulled my sleeves down. that was the beginning of the worst.

Soon after, my school's guidance counselor scheduled a meeting for the two of us. After many weeks of that, she made me see the social worker (I hated both of them). the social worker eventually called my mother. That's when I started seeing Cheryl, my social worker.

let me go ahead a little, and tell you more about some cutting I've done. as you know, i started cutting with a thumbtack then i tried using scissors, but it didn't work. one night online i read something about how a girl used a razor to cut. that night i went into my bathroom and created the biggest mess of blood in my life. i cut deeper than ever and more. i kept at that for a long time. i showed my social studies teacher one day, but it wasn't intentional. i walked into his room unaware and showed him. he thought they might be infected and took me to the nurse. she was horrid to me. i was in tears. she wrapped my cuts up. then a few days later i returned with more cuts. after she cleaned them, i was sent to the guidance counselor. Then the next week, I went to the guidance counselor. After I left her office, I went to my social studies teacher's room and cried and told him I needed to go to the hospital. That was my second time there.

Right now I am taking antidepressants that aren't working for me. I'm on effexor RX. I also see Cheryl, she does help though. I still cut, with razor blades and pieces of porcelain I haven't cut in over a month, but i'm sure that won't last.