My Full Story of SI

Why do people SI (self injure)? There are a million different answer to this question. We cut to feel better, to feel anything, to feel nothing, so others won't hurt us("I hurt myself so you can't."), to relive stress, because we are confused, because we are addicted, ect..Cutting, the most common way of self harming, is addictive. I know from experience. It is like a bad habit: once you start you can't stop, even if you want to.So, why did I decide to write about this? Because I need to share my story and my feelings. I don't care who does or dose not read this, I am posting for myself. Like a journal. But this journal may be of some help to those who struggle with SI and are looking for teens like them.Why do I cut? lots of reasons, but I guess I have to start at the beginning with that one..September 2005My first day of middle school. I was pissed. I was not returning to the middle school that all my friends were going to, but I had to transfer to the local middle school in my district. I didn't know anyone, I didn't want to. I was just fine with all my other friends. I was sad, still having to watch my wonderful mentor struggle with cancer.I didn't talk to anyone. While my sister (my twin) made friends, I had none. I felt so alone. Even if I wanted to fit in, I didn't think I could. I felt angry at the world all the time. Sometimes I wanted to die, but being the "good" kid that I was, I just pushed the thought out of my mind.It was school conferences. My teachers said all great things. I had all A's, but I was quiet. Outside I was quiet, but inside I was dying to scream.That night I went home, and cried, for no reason. I was overwhelmed with emotion. Sadness, and anger.Then I changed my life drastically.
I took a safety pin out of the sewing kit, locked myself in my room and made cuts on my arms. Not bad cuts, scratches really. All over my lower arm. It stung, but it felt good. It was reliving. The next day I woke up and looked at my arms and wanted to scream. Instead I put on a long sleeve shirt and went to school with a little bit of a rebellious attitude for knowing what I had done.That day I got in trouble with a teacher, something that never happened. That night I went home and cut, this time deeper and longer.I continued to cut all through 6th grade. I did make some friends, but there weren't exactly the best group. I began to get more creative with my self harm. I cut with a scalpel, pieced my belly button twice, (both times the earring riped out about 3 months after I did it), I put safety pins through my skin and started cutting on my legs so no one would see them. Why did I do this? Because I was desperate to get out of the dark blue ocean of emotion I had fallen into. I didn't know what the hell was wrong with me. I was angry and plain miserable. I would cry until it hurt, and I didn't even know why. Over the summer I became more careful of where and when I cut, so no one would see my cuts when I wore shorts. I had so many scars because I never let the cuts heal. I would always lie and say my chinchilla's scratched me. And people believed me.Over the summer I found out the worst news of my life.
"Mrs. Parker died yesterday" said my mom as silent tears of agony rolled down my checks. How could my loving, strong mentor be dead?Mrs. Parker had worked with my mom for awhile and was a close family friend. I was in her class when she was diagnose with terminal cancer. She was my mentor, my role model. She was so kind and wise and special.I cried and I cut for the first time on my wrists. While I did this I seriously though of committing suicide.The next year I got in to a lot of trouble, and my self harm got worse and worse until it was to hard to hide. Of course Maya4Life knew of my struggle, and tried to help me stop the habit, but I couldn't. At the end of 7th grade, rumors stared floating around about me cutting myself, mostly between my sister's group of friends. I went to the guidance counselor and convinced her to convince my sister that I didn't self harm, and she did. I still feel awful about lying to the guidance counselor and my family. Over the summer, I stopped cutting, but started some other bad habits. I drank, a lot and I got "high" off medicine like Advil.But I still wanted to cut....In 8th grade, I started yet another year as a self harmer. I was fighting with my mom constantly about what high school I would go to. I felt like I was falling deeper and deeper in to a hole hat I would never be able to get out of. I had my friends supporting me, and helping me, but yet I still felt the need to hurt myself. It hurt on the outside, but I felt numb, sad, and angry on the inside.Every day I would go home, lock my self in my bedroom, blast my music, cut, and cry until there was no more tears left to cry. The next morning I would feel horrible about what I had done, and just wanted to cut even more to feel better.Cutting did relieve all the emotions I carried around with me, but only for a moment. And when I felt like I had no emotions or feelings at all, cutting helped me feel alive, but only for a moment. On Good Friday of 2008, my parents found out my secret. I had carved hate into my ankle, and there was no way to hide it. My sister saw it first and told on me. So, I broke down and told my parents every thing. They were pissed and upset. I cried and told them I felt like I had no reason to get up in the morning.The next day my mom took me shopping. "Retail therapy" she said. I wanted to scream. Part of the reason I cut was so that someone would notice and bring me to a therapist. But no, we went shopping. SO I cut.It didn't stop after my parents knew, it got worse and I got better at hiding my scars. As I entered a private high school. I wanted to die. I had no friends, A's turned to D's and I wanted to die. I never actually attempted suicide or mad e pans to, but I did think about what it would be like to die. I cut and I started making friction burns with erasers on my arms. I pierced my belly button again. Finally, one night I had just had a fight with my mom and was crying because I had just cut. I showed my mom a journal entry about how pissed and depressed I felt because I didn't know what else to do. A couple weeks later I was put on Zoloft for depression and I started seeing a counselor.
Now, I am still suffer from depression, I am on 100 mg of Zoloft a day, and I see my therapist once in awhile. I still self harm. I don't feel as depressed, but I am still over come with to many emotions that I don't know how to explain. I am switching high schools next year. I am happy about this, yet scared for the change. I still feel like there is something wrong with me, like mentally and emotionally. And I don't know what to do about it...

og
Ps
PLEASE subscribe if you are reading my blog