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It never stops.

This is the first time I have talked about my cutting. I am not typing this to encourage others to cut, I am typing this to perhaps help others understand why people cut.

I have not always cut, I do not think anybody has always cut. But as far as I can remember, I had always had a fascination with cutting, I would repeatedly watch every movie or television show that had cutting in it. After my junior year, I started to slip into depression, and I pushed everyone away, except for my boyfriend at the time. Halfway into my senior year, I started having breakdowns, and during those breakdowns I would unknowingly hurt myself. Once the pain was inflicted, I would calm down and just stare at my cuts and I felt like everything was okay. I read a quote on a cutting website that fits my feelings about cutting perfectly- I hurt myself so you cannot.

I remember the first time I cut. It has been the worse episode I have had to this day. I had been having problems that whole week, and a massive fight with my boyfriend at the time that morning just pushed me off the edge. I skipped one of my classes and drove to the grocery store less than a mile away from school and bought three sharp kitchen knifes, I even remember what the colors of the handles were- red, yellow, and green. I then drove back to school and parked in the student parking lot which was pretty much deserted and hidden away from everybody, turned off the car, and opened the package of knifes. I picked the yellow one and traced it over my arms to see how sharp it was, which was very sharp, I instantly had a red line running down my arm. I kept doing this until I had a grid of over 30 lines on my left arm. I had a overwhelming feeling of peace, and I pulled down the sleeves of my shirt and walked back to school. I ran into my boyfriend, who noticed the drops of blood on my shirt sleeve and said I was disgusting. I remember thinking he can not hurt you, only you can hurt yourself and I walked away.

It started to be an everyday thing, I would cut at the first hint of problems, the first sign of tears. I carried the blue knife in my backpack along with a roll of gauge, and if I got the urge, I would just walk to the bathroom and cut. The blue knife was my school knife the yellow one was my car knife and the green one stayed in my room. I never cut deep enough to leave a scar or draw a lot of blood. Out of all the cuts, I have only 4 scars, and those scars were during the most emotional times for me. One lays directly above one of my tattoos, which makes it unique to me. When I cut, I felt detached from the world, detached from my emotions. I was never crying when I cut, I just felt very peaceful and focused on the task on hand. I started cutting on my left arm, then when I ran out of room, I moved onto my stomach and calves. Eventually, somebody noticed and I had to go to counseling at the school and was put under suicide watch and my parents were notified. I tried time and time again to explain that this was not a way to commit suicide, that in reality, before I started cutting I had tried to commit suicide a few times, but after I cut, my desire to die died away. It, in a sense, gave me a reason to live because I was proving to myself that I could prevent others from hurting me.

In counseling, I was required to show them my arms so they could see that there were no new cuts, so I started cutting more frequently on my calves, and for some reason it was not as painful on my calves as it was on my arms, so the cuts became longer and more frequent. When I was in counseling, I kept hearing that cutting was not healthy, that I should go see a therapist, that I was displaying a lot of suicidal signs. They tried to get me to talk to them, to explain why I did what I did, but I could not bring myself to open up, so I just sat there until my time was up, or if they let me I would go to sleep. My mother asked if I wanted to take a semester off of school to heal and see a therapist full-time, but I was fine. All I was doing was dealing with my pain, what was so wrong about that? Besides, I do not talk about my problems with a lot of people, why would I talk about it to a complete stranger who was just there to get my parents money?

When I graduated, I stopped cutting and turned to getting piercing and tattoos- they were more socially acceptable. My most at one time was 15 piercing and 4 tattoos, I now have 13 piercing and 4 tattoos. I just recently decided that I have too much piercing, and that I am going to stop getting more piercing unless I take one out before getting a new one, and I am too attached to the ones I have now. I thought I was healed (if there is such a thing) and over cutting, but something happened a few days ago and the first thing I turned to was a blade. The minute I ran the blade over my skin, I felt both ashamed and relieved. All my tears instantly stopped and a feeling of peace came over me, and away I cut. When I was done, there was over 40 2 inch cuts in a small patch on my left arm. I started shaking because I was scared how somebody that I care about now would react to it, and because I had failed myself. I had told myself I would never cut again, but I had just cut.

I want to say one thing, cutting is not the answer to anything. It does not solve problems, it just makes them go away for a while. You eventually have to deal with the emotions that come with your problems, you have to learn to confront problems instead of running away. This is something that I'm now trying to work on.


submitted by: Anonymous
on: 18 Nov. 2005
in Scarification

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