Kathrine said 10 years, 7 months ago:

I saw people with cuts on thier wrist and arms, legs .. i asked them why but they wasnt willing to answer. One day i went to the park and i saw this guy and girl they had cuts all over thier body even one long one on thier neck.. i got upset and couldt stay looking at thme because i would go and say something so my bestfriend took me home.
Few months past and i got a boyfriend we were together for long and then one day he cutted him self i asked him way he just looked to my eyes, saw the anger and tears and he didnt say anthing, i left home.
At home i was sitting with razor in my hand.
Why did he cut ?
What do they feel ?
Dose it help?
Dose it makes you feel batter?
Whats is it in it that they do it?
thoused questions were crossing my mind all not answered.
Few days past andi had a fight with my boyfriend, it was pretty bad fight and i did it.
When i got home i cuted my slef . Not on wrist , not on legs but up on arm two centimeters from the main vain.
it wasnt heeling i wasnt getting batter i was bleeding.. and i didnt got answerd for the question becouse it didnt make me feel batter..

The scar i have until today .. it been tree years, everyone is always asking me about it i say i fall from the tree and there was a nail , obviously they dont believe it but i do

Later on i got my answer .. not testing it on my self anymore.
People always want to know what it feels like, so I’ll tell you: there’s a sting when you first slice, and then your heart speeds up when you see the blood, because you know you’ve done something you shouldn’t have, and yet you’ve gotten away with it. Then you sort of go into a trance, because it’s truly dazzling—that bright red line, like a highway route on a map that you want to follow to see where it leads. And—God—the sweet release, that’s the best way I can describe it, kind of like a balloon that’s tied to a little kid’s hand, which somehow breaks free and floats into the sky. You just know that balloon is thinking, Ha, I don’t belong to you after all; and at the same time, Do they have any idea how beautiful the view is from up here? And then the balloon remembers, after the fact, that it has a wicked fear of heights.
When reality kicks in, you grab some toilet paper or a paper towel (better than a washcloth, because the stains don’t ever come out 100 percent) and you press hard against the cut. You can feel your embarrassment; it’s a backbeat underneath your pulse. Whatever relief there was a minute ago congeals, like cold gravy, into a fist in the pit of your stomach. You literally make yourself sick, because you promised yourself last time would be the last time, and once again, you’ve let yourself down. So you hide the evidence of your weakness under layers of clothes long enough to cover the cuts, even if it’s summertime and no one is wearing jeans or long sleeves. You throw the bloody tissues into the toilet and watch the water go pink before you flush them into oblivion, and you wish it were really that easy.

SHERE YOUR STORY

Artemis Rain said 10 years, 7 months ago:

I first did it out of curiosity. People were always making a big deal and a fuss out of it, but I wasn’t sure why, so I made a tiny cut on my art. I didn’t feel a thing, barely bled, nor was I very impressed, so I just shrugged it off and said whatever. About a few months later, my grandmother ended up getting very sick and ended up passing away. She and I were really close, she was the only friend I had growing up (I’ve never had a very easy time making friends when I was younger .-.) so it was a very traumatic experience for me. I somehow had the idea to cut come into my mind, and so I did. I marked up my arm horribly that night and saw all the blood and open wounds and was mortified at myself. I spent a good while that night crying over what I did, and realised that the pain of my grandmother passing had been shoved from my mind. I was crying over the pain I had caused myself. For a good while it became a way to escape from the pain of not having friends, the best of grades, best looks, etc, because I would maim myself and then feel the depression over that and not life.

I don’t know how, but I was able to get myself to stop the cutting. I still have horrible scars from it, a lot are really disgusting and get questioned about. :I But yes, that’s my story.

SocietyOutcast said 10 years, 7 months ago:

Don’t know if it’s ok to share my story but I’ll go ahead anyways. Well, I’ve always struggled with major anxiety. It’s something that’s been in me since I was little. Sometimes I’ll go mute completely, because the social anxiety will get pretty bad. I first started cutting when I was 14. I started high school, lost all my so called friends, and that’s when the bullying got worst. I’ve always been a target, but I never paid much attention to it. Now I’m 16, and it’s not any better. I’ll get pushed around, verbally abused, the kids will throw stuff at me. I have no one that is there for me, because even though I tell people, they don’t do anything about it. So cutting is my release. Trust me, I’ve tried to stop, but every time I’ll just go back to doing it. Like I always say, at times I just wish I could escape reality for a while.

Tahlia said 10 years, 7 months ago:

I started cutting when I was 14, my old bestfriend used to do it and I asked her if it made her feel better. She told me I should try it and stupidly enough, I did. I regret it to this day. I have cut my legs, my arms, my wrists, my belly, my ribs, my chest, anywhere that I could. I was in an abusive relationship for a year and 6 months. I haven’t cut for about 4 months and it may not seem like a big achievement to anyone else, but it is to me

JD said 10 years, 7 months ago:

I’d like to share.

The first time I cut was in 8th grade. I’m very violent when I’m angry and in the past I’ve scratched my arms to the point of a little bleeding. I just never thought to do anything more. One day, my mom and I were in a fight (like we are ALL the time) and I was really upset. That day is kind of a blur to me and all I remember is crying and my mother coming in, asking why, and then I showed her my arm and she cried too. She tried hugging me but I pulled away. That was an awkward time.

I told myself I’d never do it again but sure enough 9th grade roles by and this was the year I did it a lot. I remember one day specifically that one of my friends had cut the same arm on the same night because she told me about it when I got to school that day.

In 10th grade I slowed down a bit, which I guess is a good thing. I tried talking to one of my best friends about it but she wasn’t any help. She never really knows how to respond when I talk to her so I just stopped talking about my problems. I keep it all bottled up inside. No one ever asks anything so I don’t say anything. I live by that “Don’t ask, don’t tell.”

And yea I’m still cutting (and other stuff) to this day.

Sara said 10 years, 7 months ago:

Hey… So I don’t know about the rest of you, but I don’t cut for attention. I don’t cut to prove to myself that people care. I know they do, and you all should know it too. I cut for a long time before anyone found it.
I fell in love with cutting because it was the one thing i could call my own. With all the shit life threw at me, I could counter it with cutting. Felt out of control? One slice and I’m back in control. Feeling sad? The physical pain became all I felt. Broken heart? Broken skin takes that pain away.
Cutting was my little secret. When life brought me down, my knife was there.
That is, until others found out. Now I don’t have that to rely on. I can’t cut because I’m checked every day for marks. But the reasons for cutting didnt go away just because I stopped.They get worse. They ARE worse.
Now I have nothing left except my own self-loathing boiling up inside of me. One day, I’ll explode. Cutting used to take the edge off for me. Help get rid of the pain.
And now I have nothing.
Nothing at all.
For any of you people who have gotten through it themselves… could you please share how you stopped?

Lizzy said 10 years, 7 months ago:

I started because of stress and pressure from my parents. I couldn’t control a single thing in my life at the age of 14, I had nothing. So when I started it was my little secret, my little escape the one thing I could control. I shouldn’t have started it is an addiction. I thought I would be able to stop when my mom finally found out, but I couldn’t. I got better at hiding it, I got better at being secretive.. It has been almost 7 years since I started and I still struggle with cutting.
But I know now that hope is out there, love can be found, happiness exists. It’s just sometimes the blade starts calling my name.

SmallJots said 10 years, 7 months ago:

I started cutting about a year and a half ago, during the summer between my freshman and sophomore year in high school (I’m a junior now). I’m constantly dealing with depression, like a lot of you are, and that blade was my only escape from the pain I felt when I actually embraced the world. Now, though, I cut because I just can’t stop. I’m still depressed, but the cutting doesn’t even help anymore.. If that makes sense. I’ve resorted to telling the closest of my friends, thinking I could vent to them instead of grabbing the blade every other night, but I’m slowly losing the ones I thought would be there for me. We’re all just changing and finding new people to hang out with and I feel so alone. The last time I cut was just a few nights ago. I usually use these big razor blades from my dad’s shed, but this time, I took apart a pencil sharpener. The blade was disappointingly smaller but I was able to handle it better and make deeper cuts. I cut on my thighs, which is stupid, considering there’s a large vein there, but at this point, I’m not too worried about striking it. My parents don’t know I cut and really would have no clue that I do. I’m always putting that “fake” smile on that we all know very well and I make a point to stand out as the one with a bubbly personality.. But that’s not even close to what I feel on the inside. I’m numb. I’m lost. I just don’t care anymore. I don’t want to die because I feel this can get better, but when will it? How much longer can I deal with this constant cycle of getting depressed, cutting, feeling okay for a few days, then getting depressed and cutting again?