When I was 13, I began cutting.
Usually once or twice a week on my legs, they were small cuts with no depth.
I thought it was a way of dealing with small things that happened at school or home.
One night my dad saw, but he blew it off and said “just stop.”
So I did for a while, but then I started again.
Soon after a childhood friend of my brother’s came over to spend the night after he had moved to another state and was visiting.
We all knew him well and trusted him greatly.
But at night, he started touching me.
I was awake when he thought I was sleeping and I didn’t know what to so I waited till he stopped and acted like I had just woken up and ran to my room.
Soon after I fell asleep.
I later woke up with his fingers inside me and his hand on my breast, just standing above me with my brother watching from the other side of the room.
I got up and ran to my dads room without saying a word on the way there.
I was crying by the time I got to his room.
I explained that I just woke up to him touching me.
My father then decided to go down stairs and yell at my brother since his friend was acting asleep by the time he got down there.
The kid walked to his mothers house that night, and took a plane back to his dads house the next morning.
My dad never said anything about it after that.
After all that I began cutting a lot more, and deeper.
I made the decision to start cutting on my arms.
My dad got a verbally abusive girlfriend soon after.
A little after my 14th birthday, I tried to commit suicide.
I’d never felt so at home, then when I was in the hospital.
After a week of being hospitalized, I came home to a Cake, my family, and My dads girlfriends Family.
The first thing I heard from his girlfriend was “Here, you cut the cake, you’re good at cutting!”
I was hospitalized again 3 months later.
I was starving myself, throwing up, and cutting deeper and deeper every night.
I didn’t know why I felt so messed up and unwanted.
I just did.
When I got out of the hospital my aunt forced my dad to let me live with her.
I finished off the school year, when summer had just begun.
My dad had to pick me up from some event that I forgot the name to, and the first thing he said when I got in the car, was
“Maybe I should send you away. You can stay in some state with other kids till you graduate high school.”
It was the first time I had seen or talked to my dad in a month, and that was the only thing he could say to me.
While living with my aunt I had also begun doing drugs and smoking.
When I got home that same night they had gone through “my” room and found drugs, razors, and alcohol, they were extremely disappointed in me.
And I was too.
I had a razor blade hidden in my phone case, so before they took it I asked if I could go for a walk, and take the phone in case of emergency.
I had walked to a nearby park, it was already pitch black, so I sat down on a curb, and began slicing my arms to oblivion.
I had intended to kill myself that night.
Luckily my uncle drove up and stopped me from cutting anymore.
I got 29 stitches and my aunt wasn’t able sleep for 3 days after she saw my arms.
I’ve never regretted anything more in my entire life, then seeing her cry at the sight of what I had done.
I haven’t learned to love myself yet, or even forgive myself for what I did to her and her family.
I don’t even know who I am any more because of it all.
When people see me, they look at my scars,
on My Arms, and My Legs.