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I just want it to go away....

I started cutting in my junior year of high school. I wasn't anyone special, not a cheerleader or a "popular kid". I wasn't a slut although the rumors said otherwise. My dad had went postal on me when he found out I was getting high and had kicked me out of his house during the spring of my sophomore year. The months that followed were like a haze. They were filled with threats, phone calls and loads of guilt. During the summer I had started playing with my razor blades from my crafting knives. It was still strange that just by releasing a little bit of blood, I could almost feel real again. Slowly, my strokes grew bolder and deeper. There were some times I was afraid they wouldn't stop bleeding. Quickly, I learned how to hide them. I stopped cutting my forearms; it was summer and the long sleeves were attracting unwanted attention.

I worked on my thighs and abdomen mainly. They were places I knew few would ever see. But after a while, the cutting wasn't enough. I started adding needles, shoving through the skin to see how deep I could go without drawing blood. My cutting never stopped. In fact, it grew bolder. The fresh inspiration from the rush of the needles gave me a sense of daring. I made my cuts deeper and often reopened old ones. With my senses filled with the scent of fresh blood, I didn't realize that school was fast approaching.

I guess some part of me wanted that year to be THE year. The perfect year. In reality, however, it was the worst. That was the year my so called family drove the knife in further. My step mother had instructed my stepbrother and stepsister in exactly what to say. A few choice words dropped in the ear of the school big mouth, a phrase scrawled on the wall of the bathrooms, and I went from decent student to train wreck almost overnight. The progress I thought I had made by releasing some of the pain with cutting came crashing down around me.

I started heading for the scary side of the high school crowds. The finny thing is, while the rumors stated I was a whoring drug addict, those were the crowds that were frightened of me. Truly frightened. I was angry and I didn't care who knew it. I started putting my cigarettes out on my arms and doing really stupid shit to see how far my boundaries would stretch. By now, you are thinking, "yeah this doesn't belong in this site." But it does. I was the good girl. The perfect child if you will. And suddenly, i'm getting looks and comments, not just from students but from teachers and other staff. And I got away with everything.

But I digress. My 'habit' became more open. I started doing and not caring who watched. And they believed my lies to cover it up. But then it all kind of blew up in my face. I walked into the school after a really bad night and I just wanted to be alone. But then the looks started and the whispers. I felt as though I had every eye watching as I breathed. Most classes, I just ignored it, but I couldn't ignore it in gym class. We hadn't changed into our uniforms because the locker rooms were being worked on, so all the gym classes just hung out and talked in the gym.

My stepsister had gym that same period. She saw a perfect opportunity and she jumped on it. I couldn't hear the words, but I knew those looks and laughs. I tried desperately to ignore it, but they kept getting louder, at least in my ears. The world shrank and slipped the razor blade from my notebook and slowly began slicing ever so silently on my arm under my shirt. After about five minutes, I got up and started to move to another area. My best friend noticed the still fresh stain on my shirt. She follows me off the bleachers and corners me in the hall.

The end isn't as important as the actual events. My family thinks I have stopped but my self destructive behavior merely shifted to keep me from being locked away. You see when my aunt finally found out what I had been doing for last 4 months; her solution was the psych ward. The perfect place for mentally unstable people. However, I have adapted and have some control over my mental instabilities. I write. I play online game until my mind is numb. But the best outlet I have is my instant messenger role-playing. During that, I literally am able to step into another person's soul. And then my problems don't matter. And yes, sometimes the urge to bleed comes back. That's when I go play Diablo or some other gory blood filled game. What can I say? It works. Go figure!

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submitted by: Anonymous
on: 13 March 2008
in Ritual

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