Hi, my name is Gwen, i'm 21 years old, and i've been SI'ing since i was 15. I'm not very sure how it started, well i do, but i've always found ways of hurting myself, even from a young age. I started cutting at 15 lets just say. My whole life, my mother was on me, she started abusing me when i was 5, everyday since then, i would be yelled at, hit, beaten, smacked, punished for everything. If i got less than an A in my classes, she would wait for my dad to leave, then whip me, badly. I used to go to school and have to say "i fell down the steps" or something like that. Which was hard, because i couldn't even tell my dad what she was doing. I would finish a school year with honors, but i would get beaten because i didn't give her my report card at the right time, or because i had disturbed her.
I could never make her happy, no matter what i did. The only time she ever smiled at me, was when i was laying on the floor, my nose broken, and crying my eyes out. Then she smiled at me. She took pleasure from my pain, and my agony. I still to this day don't understand it, but i also, laughed when she died last october, because i knew she couldn't hurt me phyicially anymore. Although mental pain will always be there, and emotional instability iis always present.
She was the main reason i started, because i couldn't say the things i wanted to say, but i could show them on my skin. I could show myself that i was hurting so much, in my heart, and mind. That the self inflicted physical pain, meant nothing except relief. It was my escape from her.

When i was 16, i was going through a kind of recovery, as far as, stabling myself by always being around my dad. Because he would always protect me no matter what. If he had to go somewhere, and my mom was home, he would take me with him. One day he was taking me to the mall, and as we were driving, i was telling him about various things at school, and things i wanted to do with my life. then suddenly, out of no where. we are hit, hard. I had broken my arm, and was knocked out cold. When i woke up, i looked over at the drivers side, and there was my dad, head on the steering wheel, looking at me. he asked if i was ok, and i told him "i think so are you ok?" He was honest with me, and said "no i'm not, not at all."
I jumpped out of the truck, i didn't even feel my arm broken at this point, i reached over and grabbed my dad, and tried pulling him out, i got him to the shoulder, and told him to stay there, because i was going to get help. he looked at me and said "i'm sorry princess, don't ever let her tear you down, you are the best thing to ever happen to me, i love you" then he died.

Which caused me to begin cutting again, because i felt as if it was my fault he had died, and i had failed him. All he wanted to do that day was sit home and watch tv, but i had to go to the hospital, and he had died because of me. No one and i mean no one can tell me any differently. I know it was my fault.

I might write some more later on about my life, but i'm getting way too upset writing this, so thank you