 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
|
      |
 |
|
I was 16 years old when I first cut myself. I was upset over a guy that I thought I was in love with, and I had heard about other girls doing this. I had never had a desire to cut myself before, but I wondered if cutting really helped balance the emotional pain. So I took some scissors and rubbed the sharp edge back and forth on my forearm until I couldn’t take it any more. After that I couldn’t stop. Every time I felt just a little bit uncomfortable I would cut. I found myself using my keys in the bathroom at school because I was so desperate. |
My parents thought I was completely fine and believed me when I said they were cat scratches. Eventually I ran out of room on my arms and moved to my legs, ankles, and even my hip. The guy I thought I was in love with eventually became my boyfriend and noticed all of my markings, and I couldn’t lie to him. He begged me to stop, but it was like nicotine. Finally he told me to tell my parents or he would. I did, and it turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to me. My parents were not supportive at all; but if I could be honest with them, I could be honest with my friends who WOULD help me.
I have been cut free for almost a year. I still have the scars but not the desire. Believe me when I say that it is addicting. Curiosity got the better of me, but take my advice…it is no good.
|
||
