I've been cutting for about three years. I started when I was twelve and had just begun 7th grade. My grandfather had died over the summer and my grandmother was starting to get rid of some of his things. For some reason she thought I would like his razor. I had never seen a razor like it before. It had one double edged blade that you put in the top and then sort of twist to lock in. She also offered me his pack of unused razor blades. I'd seen pictures of people who cut themselves and was amazed that they could withstand the pain. I didn't think it was sick or anything. I just couldn't imagine myself doing it. When my grandmother offered me the razors I knew exactly what I would do with them. Mostly out of curiosity. I said yes I'd take them and thanked her.
When I got home I didn't mention the razor to my parents at all. I took it in my room and examined it. When I finally figured out how to get the new blade out of the tricky little plastic thing it was in I wondered what was next. I really didn't think I had the guts to do anything with it, but I had to try. I rolled up my sleeve and decided in the middle of my bicep would be a good place to try since my sleeve always covered it anyway. I lightly dragged the blade across and was amazed when a perfect little cut appeared. I had expected just a little scratch or something but hadn't realised how sharp razor blades really are. I did it four more times and was equally amazed. I was bleeding, but I wasn't in pain and I was happy about it. I loved the way it looked and was excited that I'd found a new hobby. When I was called down to dinner I felt like my parents somehow knew everything. Of course they didn't, but I worried anyways.
The next day at school I was happier than usual. I was proud of my scars because I felt like I had done something that I never thought I could. They reminded me that I could do what I wanted when it came to my body and nobody could stop me. I felt that I had accomplished something. I didn't know anyone else that was into cutting at that time so I knew I had to be very secretive about it. I only told my best friend because I knew she wouldn't judge me and that she definately wouldn't tell anyone. Once in awhile someone at school would see the scars and ask what happened. I'd make up a lie like that my cat had scratched me. I don't have a cat.
When I made that first cut I had counted on a scar being there for a couple of months maybe. It's been three years since then and the scars still haven't left. I'm beginning to doubt they ever really will. In 7th grade I always wore huge shirts and my sleeves always came down to my elbows. Eventually though I grew out of my tomboyish phase and stopped wearing excessively baggy clothes. My new shirts were more fitting and I liked them. I had forgotten about hiding my arm though. My dad was the first to notice them. He asked what they were from and I was horrified. I made up an excuse about how the dog cage had sharp pieces of metal sticking out and I wasn't paying attention and must have scraped myself on them. He didn't believe it. Up until last year he would randomly ask what they were from as if he had never seen them before. I would always say that I didn't remember and that they had been there for a long time. Once he asked if I cut myself and laughed. I said yea right and pretended to laugh too. At that point I thought maybe he knew, but then I thought probably not because if he did he wouldn't have laughed about it.
I continued to cut during 8th and 9th grade. I found it relaxing when I was stressed, angry, or sad. I did it when I was happy though too. I'd stop for months and then start again. Some of the scars would heal but many didn't. In 9th grade I went from just making lines of cuts to actually carving things into myself. I carved my nickname, Chas, into myself one night out of boredom without really thinking about what I was doing. I also started branding myself by heating up pieces of metal or safety pins. Most of my scars are on my hips and upper thighs and therefore are easily hidden. I was pretty sure I could go on cutting, branding, and piercing myself without it being noticed, but now I'm not so sure.
A couple weeks ago my friend was telling me about how he got his drivers license and that he had to get a physical at the doctor's before he could get it. I had no idea that had to be done in order to get a one. My parents already suspect that I cut and the last time I was at a doctor I was asked about it. I was just beginning to get excited about driving and now I found this out. So for now I've totally stopped cutting. I know most of the scars won't heal by June when I turn 16. Hopefully they'll fade a little and I can get by on promising that it was a long time ago and something I've gotten over. I'm sure I'll start again as soon as that's out of the way though because I don't consider cutting a negative thing. For me it's something calming and uplifting and something that I'll always have no matter what.
submitted by: Anonymous
on: 12 Dec. 2005