I feel so different from all the other stories about self injury I've read. I've been lucky enough to never endure physical or sexual abuse, or a totally traumatic childhood, nor have I been a victim of a broken household. Essentially, I'm a golden child. I'm one of those people that if you saw me on the streets, you would laugh in my face If I told you that I like to hurt myself. I'm in college, I have good grades, I have a great family, I have a large group of supportive friends, I'm always the center of parties. I have blond hair and an easy smile. I have everything in the world that should possibly make me happy. But I'm not. In fact, as soon as I walk in the door to my room, the "happy mask" that I wear so well comes right off. A large percentage of the time, I'm miserable. Today, I've just reached my 2 year "anniversary" of cutting.

I'm not exactly sure why I started cutting myself or what gave me the idea. All I know is, I think very deeply, more deeply than a lot of people imagine. I don't have a very strong faith in anything, so I obsess over death a lot. I feel like nothing I do, and nothing anyone does, really matters. We're never going to be remembered or make a difference. I understand it's inevitable and there's nothing I can do about it, but that knowledge only makes me hurt more. I lay in bed sometimes with the singular thought that someday; I won't think anymore...I'll be...nothing. I think sometimes that this thought has to cross everyone's mind. And then, I know that the world has put these restraints upon us so that we get up every morning, and go through the motions of life, and don't think about stuff like that. And, I think mostly everyone is happy to oblige. If everyone lay in bed all day and thought about dying, well...what good would that do. But, I just can't help myself. I look around busy places, like my campus quad, or airports, or shopping malls and despise everyone in their own naive, little bubbles. And then I hate myself for thinking the way I do, and not being able to just forget about death and live my life. But I feel like now that I have the knowledge, there's no going back to innocence. I feel that everyday, the world is just more and more of a disappointment. Most people aren't good at heart, nothing is forever, you can't trust ANYTHING. Sometimes, I am able to force that happy go lucky mask on, and go through the motions of a day. But I'm aware of everything. Other times, many times, I just can't make myself forget how the world REALLY is, and those are the days that turn into scars.

One night, after drinking a lot of alcohol, I started thinking about how the world becomes more and more disappointing and I started crying. I've never cried like that, like my body was being ripped in half. I was gasping, reaching for SOMETHING stable to hold on to, and as my arms were flailing a shotglass fell to the floor. That was one of the moments that I will remember forever, in its blurry, slow motion opportunity. I picked up the shards of glass and carved SLASH into my arm. Why SLASH? ...I have no idea. But watching warm blood slowly trickle down my arms in streams made me stop crying and focus. I still don't truly understand why it makes me feel better. For someone who's terrified of death, you would think that cutting myself wouldn't help matters. But I think I have a love/hate relationship with it, and cutting is my way to find a balance. On one hand, I'll never KNOW what's out there until I die, but then again I never want to die. But, every time I reach for my (now precious) box of "Kleenex" where I hide my scissors, the exact-o, and the double edge I know that I'm going to feel better. I always do, too. I'll wake up and just KNOW its going to be one of "THOSE" days and I'm miserable until I do. After I cut myself, everything is fine. I'm able to put that fucking plastered on smile back on my face and get through a day.

Like many self injurers, I've taken things a bit too far on more than one occasion. I've landed myself in the hospital once or twice and am now in therapy. Therapy. I don't know how those people stay in business. I don't want to draw you a picture of how I feel and why. It's not something you can package up inside a pretty little square, and I'm not going to reveal my innermost thoughts to someone that expects me to hand information on a silver platter. I am having a difficult enough time trying to explain myself HERE, never mind to a shrink that wants to put me in a 24 hr. hospital and kick me out of school. I was told, under no unclear terms, after my last stunt (In October) that If I cut myself again then I could pack up my things and leave campus. I guess they don't want me as a negative statistic. Yet, they want me to be "honest" about my feelings and actions. In some ways, I want to understand why I think the way I do, and why exactly I cut myself, but I just feel stuck. I do feel good that my family knows and my roommates also know. I know they don't approve, or understand, but at least I can walk around in shorts and a Tee around the house without too much hassle, as long as there aren't fresh wounds. I think I've always had a dark side. Like any other human being, I'm complex. But it's hard sometimes, living a double life.