Every Side Of Me

In elementary school, I was the quiet, unapproachable one. I was taller and heavier than everybody else, but I am also a year younger. Because of this, my classmates thought I was a giant freak. But, I didn't care, because I knew I was smarter than them. Then, we get to middle school. I had developed earlier than everybody else and from the solitude, I practically acted like a 60-year-old at 10. There was me and then everybody else. But, the unthinkable happened; a got my first C in math on my report card. I cried non-stop for about a month because of that grade. Thus starts my self-doubt and self-esteem issues. A year later in seventh grade, I was a steady A-B student, but I was also starting to punish myself for anything lower than a 80%. I wasn't cutting then, it was just a simple scrap on the arm or a few flick from a hair-tie. In eighth grade I started dating, but my punishment worsened. I had started to draw blood with my nails. Though I had a year-long relationship, I still wasn't happy. I hated me. Around the time I realized how much I hated my self, I had just turned 14 and homecoming was that weekend. Not to mention the day before the break-up, my parents announced that they were separating (They did, but then got back together several months later). I thought that everything was my fault, so after a mental breakdown at the dance, I went home, took my razor, and cut my wrists. It was a delicious punishment. After a month or so of doing that, I worried that people would notice that there was cuts on my wrists, so I switched to my legs. Up and down and around, all over my legs. I couldn't stop; I was addicted. In January of my freshman year, I met a nice boy who was a little quirky and also 18. After he asked me out, I agreed. He was so sweet, until he invited me over for a movie night. Halfway through a movie he got a little...touchy. He wouldn't stop, even when I begged him. I was in tears, but luckily his parents came home. When they questioned why I was crying, all he said was, "that movie was sad". Any self worth I had at that moment was completely gone. I cut every day, every night, until my legs were so sore that I couldn't bend without pain. This continued until sophmore year, when I joined a theatre troop. I auditioned for Almost, Maine and got the role of Marci, even though it was my first time acting. I continued to cut, except less than before, because my role required me to walk around a lot. So I vowed to stop during the show week. Unfortunately, even going a week without cutting, I got jumpy, irritable, and I cried way too easily. A few months after the show, I started dating someone else. He was nice, but he also was a football player, and they don't usually date freaks like me. So after, perhaps, a month of dating, he invited me over to his house to watch the Super Bowl. I accepted and went to his house. The first thing he did after kissing me hello was pushing me into his room, locking the door, and ripping my sweater down the middle. He started touching me. I cried, but I didn't tell him to stop. Why would I? I was just worthless, used, trash anyway. He continued to invite me over to touch me, force me to touch him. Until after three months, he forced himself in me. I felt so dirty and disgusting. He dumped me right after, saying that, "It's too much effort to try and get into your pants". I started planning my suicide. After a month of planning, I finally decided to do my final cut. As I was making my way to the shower, my parents called me into their room and demanded to know why I had pants on all the time. I lied, but they didn't accept it. They rolled up my pants and saw thousands of red lines littering my legs. So instead of sending me to a mental hospital, they drugged me up and put me in therapy. I still cut occasionally, but with practice, I managed to go a week without cutting. Later in the year, things got really bad. My anti-depressants weren't working, and the cutting got more frequent. After a month of that, my dad was diagnosed with stage 3 kidney and colon cancer. The day I found out, I swore to never cut ever again, no matter how bad it got, I would pick myself up before I fall. My dad came out of surgery alive, and that summer was great and cut-free.

Now I'm a junior, and things are hell again. I'm scared, I'm starting to get the urges again. I don't know how to punish myself without cutting. I've experimented with thumbtacks, to see if I could get the same satisfaction. It's not the same. I miss it. I can't help it. I need it. Am I going to fall back into my old lifestyle? I really don't want to, but I'm worried that the cataclysm of my life is rapidly approaching. Nobody understands why I need to punish myself, there's no way they can understand. How can I punish myself without cutting? Without my parents being disappointed? I've learned that humans respond better to pain. Even thinking about cutting is making my legs throb with want and I don't know what side of me will win. The cutter or the survivor?
DaylightToMidnight DaylightToMidnight
18-21, F
Dec 5, 2012