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Ok, so here goes. I'm 14, I'm bisexual and I cut myself. And I'm 100% happy with it, really I am. It just gets a bit annoying when I have to wear long sleeves even when it's hot cos I know that people will think I'm sick - that they won't understand. It started just about a year ago - August '98. I was just playing around with a pair of scissors and, god knows how, I drew blood. And I liked it; the way it made me feel. The blood was trickling down my leg - it felt cold and warm at the same time and the pain was amazing. All my problems disappeared. After about 5 minutes I realised what I had done and I felt so ashamed - I mean, it was a bit of a shock and it's not really 'nice' is it? Well, nobody noticed and I tried to forget. Then, in November, I was round my Dad's and I did something silly. It was really trivial - I can't even remember what it was now, but my Dad totally over-reacted. He said some things which I really took to heart and so I went into his bathroom and I took out a razor from his cupboard, broke away all the plastic - it seemed to take forever coming off - and carved the word 'stupid' into my leg. You can still see it now. All the blood - all the pain - it was fantastic. I was hooked. From then, it just escalated, I cut myself more and more frequently and I found that the more I cut myself, the less I ate, and so I lost weight and started to feel good about my body for the first time ever. By April I was cutting myself every hour or two and still enjoying it as much as the first time. Thing was, it was getting warmer and people wondered why I was still wearing long sleeves and trousers (especially since pedal-pushers and 3/4 length sleeves were 'in'). then I met this girl. Her name was Fliss. We fell in love. I told her about my cutting and, although she didn't cut and she didn't really understand, she was really really supportive. It was a pretty relaxed thing. We could both see whomever else we wanted to so long as we were there for each other. And that really was brilliant for a while. I found that I didn't need to cut myself and more, so I stopped. We drifted apart, though. We saw each other less and less. I put on weight. We decided to split. I felt terrible so I cut myself again, but for a different reason - I was angry, upset, humiliated even. I was punishing myself. So I got into that cycle. I'd do something wrong and I'd punish myself. At the same time I became immune to other people's criticisms of me. I couldn't cry anymore. I couldn't care less about my problems. I really cared about other people's though, so I started talking to people, on the Internet especially. I found that loads of people other than me do actually cot themselves. I know at least ten people now and it's fantastic. We can talk to each other, and we do. I started feeling less alone through listening to other people's problems. And I stopped. When I started again, it was for pleasure, not punishment. And it's been like that since June. I've tried to stop a couple of times, but it never worked because I don't really want to. I'm back to doing it every couple of hours again now and not eating, but I am, essentially, happy. And that's what matters isn't it?
I don't know why I did it, it was just comforting. At first I thought I was in control, that it was just something that I did every so often to make me feel better, but it got out of hand.
It didn't always cut myself, I would sometimes hit my self across the face until it was red and bruised. I thought I was becoming some kind of a freak. I became so paranoid and I refused to speak to anyone. One by one my friends disappeared until I was alone. That was when I was at my lowest. I hated everything and everyone and I wished that I could just dissolve away. I felt like I was the most worthless thing on earth and suicide became an option.
I am so glad I didn't resort to that option. If I had I wouldn't have the Manics or my new understanding friends. How did I stop? Well to tell you the truth, I haven't stopped, but I am a lot better and have more confidence. I am not ashamed of being who I am, I feel comfortable being me.
The best of luck to everyone, you can all get through it.
- R
Hi,
I have been visiting your site for a few months now and it is really
helpful.
There are so many things that I want to say, it should be easier to
tell you because I have no idea who you are . I can't. I want to but I
can't. I know that if I don't get it all out I'm going to end up
killing myself, i suppose I'm half dead already.
There are two sides to me and they are only aware of each other they
don't care about the other. Most days I feel like I'm holding on to my
sanity by it's last thread. I don't want to hurt myself but it's the
only way i can deal with anything I have been hurt enough so why am i
doing the same thing?
I can probably give you the outlines like, it has something to do
with dad 8 years old , and me know hating all men and myself, even so
i still trust people and they always let me down.
Recently i was getting better then my mom dropped the bombshell, it
had happened to her to, her grand dad, i still can't tell her,
because i sort of blame her, and me, every one else to.
I think it was me and i can't escape from it, 3 years of self harm
hasn't worked, nor has leaving home,
I don't trust anyone any more and I'm trapped.
I'm going to feel guilty about sending this e-mail but i had to do
something
Nicola (17)
Today, in this often empty and superficial society, sometimes the only
thing that one can focus on is pain. Living is becoming an absolute
chore and happiness is almost non-existent.
I have never really enjoyed life and have resorted to cutting my self
many times. The only thing that is keeping me here is the music I write
and those in music who I can relate to. People like Morrissey and of
course Richey (Edwards) give me a reason to live because I can relate to them and
their pain. The only way out of this mundane and hollow life is to try
as hard as I can to become successful in music. Not for the money or
fame, but to change peoples lives through my lyrics. That is the only
purpose I have.
Anyway, I have been cutting my self since I started college, mostly on
my forearms using the words "NEED" "WANT" "DESPISE" "HELP" "PAIN"
"FOCUS" etc. I do so because I attain a feeling that I AM being SET
APART FROM OTHER PEOPLE. I cannot fathom the way people live their lives
so I must show the majority that "I will not be apart of your hollow
existence" Most cannot endure pain, but a few can. WE can. WE can show
them that it is not always easy being US. But they will not understand,
they never will, only US, WE will ever know what feels to be worthless
and vile, when they are the ones who are worthless and vile. Pain
sometimes is our only friend and the only thing that keeps us sane.
-R-
Ok, i promised Jen ages ago that I'd write my personal story for 'Stronger'
so here goes, but i just haven't found the time till now, or may be i was just
avoiding it. please excuse my incessant rambling as I'm not sure exactly what
to write.
ok, here goes. I'm 22 and i started hurting myself at the age of 15. i am
disabled and use a wheelchair, although i can still walk a bit. this is
absolutely nothing to do with why i harm myself, i came to terms with my
disability a long long time ago and it doesn't stop me from doing anything i
want to do.
as far back as i can remember I've always hated and detested myself. i got
bullied a lot at school. i went to mainstream primary school where people
could see i had something physically wrong with me, but i couldn't, i used to
think they were lying and seeing things. They used to call me the flea bag
and if they accidentally touched me or brushed up against me they would look at
me with disgust and say that I'd given them the fleas. when i started
secondary school the bullying got progressively worse. i was the only one out
of 1500 pupils with something physical noticeably wrong with them. spastic
was a commonly used word by them, and it makes me cringe when i hear it, even
now.
It was while at secondary school that i started hurting myself. i was having
problems at home by this time. dad could never accept there was anything
wrong with me, so he pretended the problem didn't exist. he started being
nasty to me as he wanted me to wear lace and frills, etc, but i was typical
tom boy and wasn't having any of it. if i refused to wear what he wanted me
to i would get called a slut, a tramp and a slag. i distinctly remember the
first time i did it. I was fifteen and had just done a stressful mock exam
(maths i think). i was doing some revision later on that afternoon and
accidentally caught my skin of the sharp bit of the compass. i was surprised at
what a feeling of relief it gave me. I would then use a compass to scratch
myself every couple of days. This progressed to cutting myself with stanley
knives, burning myself with cigarettes and cutting myself with razor blades.
i became a virtual recluse at home, especially if dad was home.
when i left school and went to college, i had no problems as far as bullying
was concerned, i was determined not to let people see me as being weak and i
got accepted. After two physically tough years at college, i started using a
wheelchair. this was my choice, no one else's. before that i had been on
crutches constantly for two years, but i found dragging myself around on them
became too tiring and i started falling over a lot as my balance got worse. i
left college and went to a residential college for people with physical
disabilities in Hampshire for 2 years.
While i was there i got my first boyfriend. i also met Markie there at the
end of my first year and we had a long-term relationship, so much so it lasted
for three and a half years. when i started at this college, i stopped hurting
myself for a while. this was for a number of reasons, the main one being that
i didn't want anyone finding out about it and as i shared a room with someone,
it was a bit risky. however i only managed about three to six months before
the urge came to strong and then i stopped again.
when i left the college me and Markie stayed together even though we had our
rough patches. after a year of waiting i finally got a place at a residential
home in Sussex especially for young disabled people under the age of 30 who
have an interest in either art or photography. at this time i broke up with
Markie. this was through no fault of his own. i had started hurting myself
again and wasn't sure that he'd be able to deal with it, so rather than
talking to him about it i just broke things off. However, i eventually talked
to him about it, we got back together and Markie was there whenever i needed
him. Last January he moved to the same home as me in Sussex which made us
even closer. However, by then we both realised that i had a problem. I went
to see my GP who diagnosed mild depression and gave me some mild anti-
depressants.
In Oct. last year me and Markie got engaged and that was the one piece of my
life that couldn't have been happier. That was until three weeks later when
He died. It was a shock to everyone. We always he knew that it was doubtful
He'd live past the age of thirty because he was disabled with muscular
dystrophy, however we all thought he was stronger than he was and thought he
had at least two years left. How wrong we were.
Since Markie died i have been going through the worst months of my life. I
constantly feel suicidal and have been taken to hospital once over the last few
months because i took an overdose. I used to feel suicidal before Markie
died, but now when i get them the feelings are twice as strong. He was my
rock and was always there for me. Even if he didn't understand what i meant
sometimes, he'd always sit there and listen and give me a hug to try and ease
the pain.
Over the past few months i have been seeing a psychiatrist who's diagnosed me
with clinical depression. I have been on a lot of different medication
lately, but none of it seems to have helped, but hopefully the new one that
I've been taking for the last few days will eventually show an improvement. I
am still hurting myself and personally i don't think there's anything wrong
with it, it's not hurting anyone else other than me and i deserve it anyway.
I am such a weak and pathetic bitch. I as a person am bad and evil and i
don't deserve any friends or anyone that cares about me. And now Markie's
been taken from me i feel like I'm being punished. I feel so scared and
alone. I've even started having panic attacks over the last month which
scare the shit out of me. Anyway I'm going to sign off here as I'm at a bit
of a loss at what else to write and also starting to get a tad depressing. If
anyone fancies a chat and wants to e-mail me they'd be most welcome.
By the way i just like to thank my friends from the bottom of my heart (you
know who you are!) for being there for me when I've needed them, you'll never
know how much it means to me.
Ema
Nothing wrong with my parents, they've always been nice to me......I
really don't want to upset them by making them think they've failed
as parents. I can't tell my friends coz i don't have any......I
always think they're bitching about me behind my back and they hate
me so i can't speak to them about anything. I get lonely, I get
upset, I have no one to tell so i just have to keep it in, be as
cheery as you can on the outside, don't want people talking.......
I'm scared, I have no one who's actually here for me. sometimes I
think I'd be better off dead. But sometimes I think I'd better just
hang on coz something fab might happen and everything would be
alright...........I felt bad last summer..............over winter
I've been a lot better.....but i recognise this feeling....and I know
all of last years sadness is coming back....and it's coming back
worse.......and this year I don't want to fight it. I just want to
lie down forget about everything and go to sleep but never wake up.
Self mutilation makes me feel like I'm a bit special to be able to do
this
self mutilation just makes me feel
I don't think any of that made any sense..........can't think
straight at the moment
that's all I wanted to say
Click here for page 2 of the personal stories
