I'll start this by saying that I'm very normal. I don't fit the traditional stereotype of self-harmers, I come from a 2 parent family, I did well at school, I have lots of friends and I have never gone through a massive trauma (such as abuse or neglect), yet despite this seemingly happy life, I cut myself.
At A Glance Author anonymous Contact anonymous@bme.anon When It just happened Artist me Studio home Location UK I don't remember the first time I did it but I must have been about 15, I remember times sat in my room feeling so alone and so horrible that I would drag scissors across my thigh trying to make the pain I felt go away. I would do it whenever I felt really down, it became such a release, watching the blood trickle down my leg was like watching the bad stuff go away. I soon came to realize that if I got caught doing this I would disappoint so many people that I had to stop.
I managed to give it up for over year but when I was 17 I went through a really tough patch and sure enough cutting became my only escape. This time I progressed to unused razor blades (much cleaner than dirty old scissors!). The first time I used the razor I wasn't prepared for how sharp it would be and I cut too deep, I could see the fat in my leg and there was a lot of blood. Thankfully I didn't need stitches but instead of scaring me to stop the adrenaline rush that came from it made me want to cut more.
I knew I had to be sensible, I only ever cut the very top of my thigh so no-one would see the scars and I only cut every week or so. I would have carried on like this but I met a wonderful guy, he became the only person I ever told about my cutting and despite him being understanding, it was clear he wanted me to stop. Every time I told him I had cut he would look so hurt, I realized I had to stop so I wouldn't lose him. Despite a couple of slip-ups I did manage to break the habit, or so I thought.
When we'd been together for nearly a year we went through a really rough patch in our relationship, I thought I would lose him forever and even though I had promised to stop cutting I went back to it and it became worse than ever. I had lost the only person I could tell everything to, I had put so much of myself into 'us' that I felt like part of me had died. The cutting became a way to cope; I would feel so calm afterwards that it became my release. At my worst I was cutting at least once a day, not just on my thighs this time but my arms and stomach as well.
I thought my life couldn't get any worse, then I found out a close family member was dying. I turned to my boyfriend for support, despite our relationship being practically over he was still the one I turned to. He was so caring and supportive that it made us realize our relationship was worth fighting for and we worked through our problems. I told him how bad my cutting had gotten and he said if I didn't stop he would have to tell someone because I needed professional help. I didn't want to get doctors involved, I was terrified of being locked away in a psychiatric unit, so once again I stopped.
I stopped cutting for over a month, but then I had a bad day and felt so down I grabbed some scissors and cut my leg, it was just once and not deep. Luckily I managed to convince my boyfriend it had been an accident. It did make me realize though that I might never be free of this need to hurt myself. Whenever I feel really down I know I'm going to want to cut and I don't know if I have the willpower not to. It's been 3 weeks since my last cut but I keeping looking at the packet of razor blades on the shelf and it's very hard to just leave them there.
I hope I can stop myself, I don't want to be a self-harmer forever, I have scars all over my legs, some quite bad, and I always have to wear shorts at the beach. The hardest thing is keeping it a secret, but I know that most people I know would be horrified if they saw my scars. If anyone is thinking of starting to cut please don't, it gives you a temporary release but it's not going to solve your problems, it will probably only make more.