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Getting it deeper a cry for help no longer

I've been cutting since I was in the 9th grade. My best friend Carissa showed it to me, she told me how it helped her--how good it felt--how much it relived everything. I tried it, unsuccessful-- minor cuts and mainly welting occured...bravo right? It stung like hell, I told my parents, it wasn't a big deal--to them. I cried for a few nights after that, telling myself what I did was wrong and stupid. Then on the third-or fourth night I decided to cut again, for reasons beyond my understanding it felt wrong but I wanted to do it again--and again. Carissa was right it felt good, no it felt wonderful. I decided to hide it from my parents--or rather just not to tell them because they didn't care the first time, so telling them now would be pointless. I cut almost everyday now, little designs every now and then, but mainly the bars-the lines on my arm, not to kill, just to feel. I eventually upgraded to words, just random ones--some time angst and depressed and sometimes just wha t was ever on my mind. This was unique for me to do words, it felt more like art now that self-mutilation as my health teacher so bluntly denonced it. I want my parents to know now, I wanted thier approval still---I felt deep in my soul that I need thier love even if they didn't want to give it to me. Again--crying out so loudly for help. I also upgraded my tool of choice the chain went saftey pins-useless..shaving razor--better...x-acto blade-- nice, broken soda tabs-good work, then desprate now to get the feeling everyday I'd do anything--down to using a fork once. Crying out-- dying for thier help now, I was becoming addicted to the pain-- and the forming of scars on my once whole flesh. My canvas was loosing more and more space everyday, and everyday I was going deeper-- going for attention so openly, and never recieved a drop. I've also suffered many funerals this year--both grandfathers and two aunts, one of which I was close to. So cliche... but yes the cutting got worse. I tried now to show it to my parents--- again they ignored it, they pretended I was lying, or what ever else they had to tell themselves so they didnt think they had an 'insane daughter' someone who cuts is insane to them. Totally out of thier mind--- I was now a blemish on the happy 'normal' family. It felt so horrible to be the only one who I knew that felt like I could not run to my parents for help even though i so despratly wanted it. They swept it under the rug...I decided to make one final attempt to get them to recognize that I wanted help--I felt wrong, I had scars all over my body, some very beatiful and artistic in my mind--others not so much. One night I took an X-acto blade, a steak knife, and my collection of broken soda tabs I was going to put myself in the hospital tonight so they would acknowledge me.
I cut, patterns, designs deeper--and deeper still into my arms and legs, slicing a vien. I then went down stairs my own blood now seeping into my clothing. I was rushed to the hospital---43 stitches later--I was sent to a mental hospital--released 3 days later.
I'm still cutting--but I realised I was never cutting for attention--or a cry for help, I thought and really believed thats what I wanted. Now I know, I'm a cry for help no longer--I can bleed for me, go as deep as I want, and love it---its my art, and its beautiful.

~~~~~~~~~~~~` If you feel this way, like you are a cry for help and what you are doing is pathetic. Look deeper into it, see it as not a negative-- not something that needs to be changed. Don't run to someone that can't help you, they'll not understand, its hard to accept this, I know it is. People aren't always there for you, you have to see something inside yourself, or just totaly give on life and jump off a cliff--- cutting is not a negative or suicide attempt, its an expression-- its art. It is your way to show whats bottled up inside so you dont blow up on a random person on the street. You keep it to yourself but you make it evident to those who do care enough to know and to see. You don't have to look for a way to make it alright--- if you can accept it then its fine, if you can understand it no one else matters You are an artist not a freak-- and you don't always need to make it a cry for help.


submitted by: Anonymous
on: 07 July 2004
in Scarification

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Artist: myself
Studio: bedroom
Location: MA

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