I'm not sure if this is the right area to be writing in, but what the hell...
At A Glance Author anonymous Contact [email protected] When Ten years ago or more I recently discovered the BME web site about a month ago after taking up an interest in piercings. I've been tattooed four times and have both nipples, my bellybutton, and my nose pierced, along with my ears being stretched. As you can tell, body modification is a huge part of my life and always will be.
Once I started looking around the web site I wandered into the "cutting" section. Personally, I was horrified and sick to my stomach.
I guess this is where I should start explaining myself. I am 23 years old and have been a "cutter" (let it be noted that I despise this stigma) for about 11 years now. At the age of 12 I became severely depressed. I remember vividly being in the bathroom at home not knowing what to do with myself when I looked up and saw a razor in the shower. It sealed my fate.
I continued to slash at myself throughout junior high in the places that I guess you could say you would expect a teenager to do. The depression came and went...I would be fine for as much as a year or two and then plunge so deeply into it that I was positive I would never escape it. Nothing really did any sort of damage until I entered high school. I dove into the sea of depression once more and was unable to perform daily functions. It was then that my parents became very concerned. I would find new things to cut...the tips of my ears bled the most and left beautiful lines down my face, neck and chest. I would cut the tops of my toes and fingers, my belly, thighs, arms, shoulders and chest. At my worst point I put huge slashes across my cheek and still have scars.
My parents took all of the razors out of the house (I had a car and a job at the time, this didn't make anything more difficult). I wasn't allowed to leave my door open to my room anymore for fear of what new ways I would find to mutilate my body. As I look back now I remember sneaking into the bathroom in the middle of the night with a razor in my waistband so that I could witness my cutting in the full length mirror. To put it bluntly, I was addicted. Weeks went by and I would cut myself daily...I couldn't function without cutting myself. The slightest problem led me to sneak away and 'take care' of myself.
I've gone to multiple psychologists, been on multiple anti-depressants. Nothing seems to suit me... I simply have to learn to be a strong person and to fight this addiction head on. I might not cut myself for a year and then BAM! It's this deep need that I need to satisfy. I feel sick, disgusted, and ashamed afterwards, but the need crosses my mind daily.
Last year, at age 22, things escalated. Simply cutting wasn't good enough. I needed to die. After two occasions of attempting an overdose (I took little enough to make the doctor laugh in my face) and cutting my wrists (another pathetically failed attempt) I couldn't do it anymore. My family was devastated and my close friends simply stopped speaking to me because of the depth of my problems.
I wish that I could say it ended there, but it hasn't and I fear that it never will. I last cut my arms up worse than I ever have a few months ago. Blood was splattered across my entire bedroom and it just wouldn't stop...
I have horrible scars all over my arms and my chest, the ones on my face, fingers, hands, thighs and wrists are slowly fading as the years pass by. I'm ashamed to have to explain to people how I got into an 'accident' a long time ago that I don't want to talk about when they ask. I've almost lost my job (working with children) over them. My boss told me that parents would fear if I couldn't control myself how would I react calmly to their children? My family has suffered greatly, and I've lost many friends and boyfriends due to my self-destructive behaviors.
I know that it will happen again...but at least I can say that it's something I am working on daily. Last night I laid in bed, upset, and the thought passed through my head. It wasn't worth hurting myself over. A small victory...
Looking at the sliced up skin that people have submitted is a gross reminder of what I do to myself. Reading other's stories makes me sick to my stomach. I fully understand that if you desire to modify your body it is acceptable. However, I see these things and the only thing I feel is sadness for those who think that it's something new to express themselves by. It's something I've been battling for over half of my life.