First let me start by telling you a little about myself. I am 14 years old, and come from a divorced family. I have had serious problems with depression in the past (and still do)and found SI as an escape. My parents, (and as horrible as I feel saying this) particularly my mom, are a huge stress on me. I never feel like I'm good enough or that anything I'm doing is right. I've never had many friends. It's not because I have an unpleasant appearance or that I'm not a good person, it's just because I've partly chosen it. I'm so different from the other people my age and have always gotten along better with adults. I could never find anyone with my same interests, so I never made any attempt at starting anything with anyone. I picked up reading in third grade and was already reading and fully comprhending Michael Crichton by the time I was ten. I'm a straight A student (for the most part) and anything less than a perfect A causes me incredible stress and frustration.

I began SI when I was about 11 years old. I didn't even realize what I was doing at first. I was just horribly angry with my mother and started scratching my arm until I could feel the blood. It really felt good. It was a release from everything I was feeling, all of the pain I had been going through. I had found a new friend that I could turn to, and so I continued to seek out this new companion. I began by cutting my ankles. The cuts were shallow and it was winter so they were very easy to conceal. This continued for about half a year. I started to starve myself and told one of my "friends" that I was contemplating suicide. Well, she told some other people and eventually it got around to a teacher at school, and so I stopped for fear that my parents would find out. I pushed it all to the back of my mind, and let myself forget. I was okay for about a year, but last winter(of 99)--around Christmas time--I got really upset and angry (I think it was at my mom again), and I cut my wrist. I started with the intent of killing myself, but stopped when I realized what I was doing. From there I started cutting my wrists. Every cut after the intial one got deeper, longer and angrier. At about the same time, one of my friends had begun cutting herself. Her parents found out and put her in a hospital and on medication. I saw what was happening to her and I didn't know what I could ever do if my parents found out, so I vowed to stop again. Easier said than done. About a month later, something set me off again and I began cutting my ankles. I stuck with that for a while, but found myself looking for other places to hurt myself. Lately, I've taken to cutting my inner thigh. It helps me cope with things that are happening that I have no control over. I talk about it with my other friend that is a self-mutilator, and she still does it too, despite all of her therapy. One day she asked me if I wanted to stop, and I said no. It has become something that I need in my life. I know it is always there and that it is something that I can always turn to. It helps me, and if anyone ever tried to take it away I honestly don't know what I'd do. The thing is, you really don't think about it WHEN you're doing it. All you know is that it's helping and that you're getting rid of all kinds of stresses and pains that would otherwise continue to build up. I always feel happier and more at ease after I've done it, and I tend to have a better day. I really don't see anything wrong with what I'm doing, though, because it's good for me. However, it is aboslutely NOTHING that I would EVER reccomend to ANYONE. Seriously. It becomes an addiction, and the only thing that I know to compare it to is cigarette smoking. If you've ever seen a smoker try to quit or what they'll do if you try to take their cigarettes away, that's exactly how hard it is for self-mutilators (if not harder, because many cigarette smokers want to stop, whereas a lot of self-injurers truly don't). I could never tell my parents, because they wouldn't understand. My mom believes my depression to be sheer dramatics and I could only imagine what she would say if she ever found out about my SI. I love her, but she could never understand and mostly because she never tries to. I suppose I could tell my dad, because we're really close, but he wouldn't understand either. I think that my self-mutilation would probably only get worse if I were to tell them. There would be all kinds of new stresses that I'd have to deal with and on top of everything, they'd try to take it away from me. No, this is something that is my own thing. I currently have no desire to stop, but if I ever do decide to, I'll be sure to keep you posted on whatever new struggles that brings and how it turns out.