When I was fourteen, my uncle died. I was pretty close to him, he died of cancer. Then my step dad just left one day shortly afterward. He left my mom struggling with three kids. She was finishing school at the time and it was really difficult. I was going through a really hard time with my friends. I never wanted to do anything and I was always in a bitchy mood. I met another girl in art class who cut, she told me about it and I tried it. I liked it. And it became something I did whenever I felt anything but happy. I had cuts all up and down my arm, but I didn't stop there. I cut my legs and hips as well. The school counselor saw my arm one day and called my mom. She was hysterical and wouldn't stop yelling and crying. She didn't understand why or how I could do this. She was so hurt, and I couldn't stand knowing that I did that to her. So I told her to take me up to the local mental facility, and I told her to admit me so I could get help. I did this for her. I spent a week in the facility and was diagnosed with clinical depression and insomnia. I still struggle with these things on a regular basis. I don't take medication for them or go to counseling anymore and I still cut. Not on my arm, not near main veins, not to kill myself. Just to feel the pain. Just to put a connection between the emotional and physical. And I haven't told anyone.

LuckkyLouise LuckkyLouise
18-21, F
Feb 16, 2010