I use to self injure, and everyone in my family knows about it. They found out through my doctor, after I had stopped months ago, and he just said it right in front of my family. I hated him for that, and still to this day don't like him. That was two years ago. No one asked me why I did this to myself, or do I need any help. They laughed, joked about it to each other, and made fun of me about it in front of me just to make me feel bad. I didn't like it. At all. I thought of running away, calling a help line, suicide....All of the tension was too much for me. The only people that actually knew about the cuts were my friends who had dealt with this kind of problem. After a while, everyone stopped talking about it...to my knowledge. They probably forgot, or talk about it when I'm not around. Either way, they will always turn to each other and ask questions about why I did it. No one came to me and ask why I did it. Because they didn't care enough to ask.This was four years ago. I'm seventeen now, about to turn eighteen, and I still don't understand why everyone in my family just ignored it like it was nothing. Me cutting was a cry for help. To this day, they never tried to help me. I never cut again after my doctor found out, but the urges are still there. And only one scar remains; to remind me of what I had to deal with.