I have been having psychiatric problems since about sixth grade, but since BME is about body mods only, I'll stick to the part about my issues with cutting.
At A Glance Author Christi Contact Christi@bme.anon When N/A I was in eighth grade and it was my second time being admitted to the psych ward for suicide attempts, and this time, I was put in an eating disorders unit because the psych ward was out of beds. I definitely don't have an eating disorder; in fact, I'm fairly overweight, so I immediately felt alienated from the other girls on the unit. After about a week on the unit, however, I began to bond with them, despite our differences. I bonded with two girls in particular, Kat and Kasey. Both of these girls were cutters.
While in Kasey's room one night, Kat and Kasey began to talk about how good cutting made them feel, and how much it helped them. At the time, I was in alot of mental pain, and felt like I would do just about anything to try to get some relief. So, after lights out, I took a pencil, broke it in half, and dug it into my skin.
It wasn't a very deep cut, but it definitely hurt, and it did bleed. The effect on me was amazing; I truly had relief. As the blood leaked out so did my pain, and from then on, I was hooked. I would cut whenever I felt sad, lonely, or depressed, and although this greatly prolonged my stay on the unit (I ended up being there for six weeks) I really didn't give a hoot. I just wanted to feel that relief.
After I got out of the unit, I went back to school, which was a hellish nightmare. One of my so-called 'friends' had told everyone about my problems, and I turned into the school's biggest outcast. I had promised my father that I wouldn't cut anymore, but after a few weeks of this, I had had enough. I took my shaver and bent it up enough so that the blades stuck out, and I cut myself deeper than I ever had before. The blood poured out, getting all over my comforter, but I didn't care.
I was in so much pain that I carved up my entire arm, making probably at least twenty cuts, before my father knocked on the door. His bedroom was across the hall and he had heard me crying. When I told him I was fine, he got suspicious and opened the door. What did he see?? My arm, dripping with blood, a pool of blood on my comforter, and a pair of scissors in my hand. I had quickly hidden the razor and grabbed a pair of scissors when he knocked, making it look like I had used the scissors to mutilate myself.
He cleaned me up, lent me a few long-sleeve T-shirts to wear to school, and bade me goodnight. But I wasn't done.
One of the illnesses that I have is OCD, or obsessive compulsive disorder. One of the ways that it manifests itself is that I crave symmetry in everything I do, including my appearance. So, I found the razor where I had dropped it and carved up my other arm so that both my arms were symmetrical.
The kids at school eventually saw my arms, and I was rejected to an even further degree. School ended, my parents divorced, and I moved out with my father into a new apartment. I was also sent to a day program for mentally ill kids, called MSA, which was two hours a day every weekday.
I found MSA very therapeutic, but then I hit a rough patch. At my lowest point, I ended up carving 'Kill me' into my stomach, in addition to other cuts, and I was sent once again to the hospital. This time, I was in a regular psych unit, and there were no other cutters there. The other kids on the unit were shocked when they saw my arms, and I realized how much I was setting myself back by cutting. After five days on the unit, I made a vow to never cut again, and was discharged.
Since I've been discharged, I've had to go back to the hospital once again, and I've cut a few times, but it was just scratches, nothing deep. I've found that a good coping skill is thinking of the consequences. For instance, I was having a rough day and felt like cutting my arms, but I realized I couldn't wear my strapless homecoming dress if I did, and that stopped me.
Sometimes, I'll see cuts on people's arms or see the pictures on BME and want to cut more than anything I've ever wanted to do in my life, but I've come to the realization that I can't live my life dependent on a razorblade. Thanks for caring.