Me. *you Probably Won't Read*

I am quite the artist
Though there's a mighty twist
My paintbrush is a piece if glass
And my canvas is my wrist
I never meant to hurt myself
To draw my crimson blood
But there's no escaping
So then I let it come

I started self harming almost a year ago. I was backstage, doing a show. I act, I sing in musicals at a local theatre, and I was about to face the crowd. I was so nervous, I didn't notice when I rubbed two layers of skin off my wrist. Cutting followed. For months I slit my skin, little scratches. I was afraid to draw blood, but my anxiety and anger was erased from the pain, so I thought I was helping myself. Six months ago I let it flow. I say the cat scratched me, or my friend's nails snagged my wrist. My sister is suspicious, my parents blind to it all. They don't know what I've done to myself. I don't really know if I want them to know. I come from a family where my siblings have some sort of disorder, whether its unnoticeable or requires medication. I'm the 'normal' one, the artist, the scholar of the family. I'm fourteen, with a quick temper, a sharp tongue, and no self esteem. I literately mauled my wrist deciding to write this. I'm really uncomfortable, my wrists are bugging me by telling you. I'm ending my story here. Bye...
FreakNumber0 FreakNumber0
18-21, F
1 Response Jan 13, 2013

You are strong enough to beat this. No matter what anyone else thinks or says you are a wonderful person and you deserve a better life.

Thanks... But I think I've lost any will to beat this. It's been too long, too much of a habit.