I pass a mirror and smack. A few hours later I pass another mirror. i smack again. its a habit now. i smack my stomach so hard each time that by the end of the day I am naucious. my stomach gets red and sore. but i still smack it, pushing it in as if that would make it shrink up to miss-america-cute. fake tan and all. I don;t care what people think of me. my body is mine. so if they don;t like it, fuck them. there is just on person who cares..one person who cares so highly that they remind me all day long. at each pass of a mirror or each mention of food. that even tho my stomach is aching. turning inside out with hunger. that i am NOT HUNGRY. never. i never could admit it. who would want to. i am reminded as i change into my tights and leotard for ballet. i see the little twelve year olds with their prepubesent thighs. their stick bodies that i so desire. i am always reminded. or wait- can you call it reminded if you never forgot? the person who cares so very much about my not-so-perfect thighs. and my big boobs..that person is in me. that person is called anorexia. that person is so ugly and cruel. even the worst monster of the goriest horror movie could not depict this person. this person is so disgusting that i must hide it. i hide it every day. there are a few, very few people that know of him. MR. A. good ole A, always here when you need him. just when you pick up that handful of raisins (oh no! a whole 5 calories!) or just as you think of biting into an apple. Mr. A is like a door-to-door salesman. except that he is stuck in my house. every moment of the day he begs me to give in to his wonderful offer. I try at first, knowing whats best for me. but he is so relentless that i must give in. i take hold of his once-in-a-lifetime- amazing offer. and thats the end. me and the salesman are stuck for life. its worse when I am sick. i am unable to excerise. my usual routine of skating and dancing. when i am kept from that- thats when he gets mad. he screams at me. every drop of water i consume is done so with guilt. i want to yell at him 'i already bought your fucking 5-in-one vaccumm! now leave me alone. get out of my house'. but he only laughs. he threatens to kick me out. so that he could run my house entirely. that scares me. so i listen. i stay out of his way- doing what he demands....never eating..or doing so with disgust. and immediately working out so that he won;t notice my consumption. Damn Mr. A. Why won;t he just go bother someone else and let me be happy? Why didn';t I just shop QVC? -written by Abbi on 12/17/01 IceAbbi
Cutting is not attention seeking. It's not manipulative. It's a
coping mechanism Self-injury is a serious, though largely silent, psychological issue that millions of people around the world have to deal with. If you don't know anything about "cutting", I'd suggest you visit: http://www.gurlpages.com/writing/pandora.girl/selfinjury.html Where The Razor's Been. Check out her links.... Also read the above quoted book. I wanted to start a dialogue here about cutting and/or cutters. Have you ever known someone who injures themselves? Have you ever been or are you a cutter yourself? What is your personal relationship with pain? ~becca~ maybe GiveMeALightOfSomeKind? I am trying So. Fucking. Hard. To. Stop. But sometimes it seems like there's no point in trying to stop, because I'll go a week (a whole week! yay me!) without cutting, and then break down while sitting on my bedroom floor at night, and then my week's worth of work is down the tubes. So why wait a week if I'm just going to do it again?
no good. i'm (it's) no good. bled myself to sleep tonight. i can read my arm like braille. i've been sinking into melancholy and denial; yes i have a problem. yes i've had this problem for two years. yes it's gotten worse. is the fact that today i cried at dinner, in a fancy restaurant, an excuse? that nobody was here to talk to me? that i tried to go to bed at 11, instead of the 4am like yesterday? that a song that makes me hurt came on the radio? lots of excuses. so somebody tell me why. i wasn't even unhappy. that unhappy. i've been promised therapy that never comes. i have a teenage hotline card, and was going to call one of the numbers on it tonight. but i looked at it and realized that i don't fit under any of those categories. i'm not suicidal. not pregnant. not a runaway and not doing drugs. just, lying in my bed at 11, the walls were so closed in, i needed to know if there was anybody in the whole world who was willing to listen. my habit has been lately, get so exhausted that i can't cope. cut. cope. get more exhausted. fall asleep. tonight i tried to go to bed before i was exhausted, and so i skipped that step, maybe. i don't know. that's the problem, i'm always told i'm a little girl. i feel like it. i don't know a thing. i know that usually i can breathe after i've cut. tonight it got worse. so i cut some more. which is why i'm on here now; i can't think of anywhere else to go. oh yeah i'm all for radical honesty....... I'm trying so hard to stop... but part of me doesn't want to stop. I'm trying not to offer excuses for the scratches on my ankle and the cuts on the inside of my leg, but it's so hard not to. I wish that I didn't always have to wear long pants and socks and shoes so that my mom doesn't see the scabs and the scars, but I just can't stop. im just woundering has enny one cut not just in a straight line but like in patturns or circles? im just woundering beacouse i cut today it had been a long time sence i last cut the only reason i cut today was to see if i still could and to give me some thing to write about.... enny way i was just woundering if ennyone had cut in enny patturns... Thomas
If you can not take our poetry, words and drops of blood then why are you here? These are my FRIENDS i've cried with them, talked with them and they have helped me
cross on self harm at the power shuffle and they are not
something to sweep under the carpet and ignore. They are as
real or scary as my scars and i don't care how bad my friends
scare you when it comes to this. It's fine time for them to feel
loved even if they don't think they deserve it. I hope this page
can be a place where they can take off there shells and tell us
zactly what there feeling. (i know it did for me) Self harm isn't
something to wipe off like a white board, it's real and true it is an
addion you can't "just stop"like all othere it too it takes time to
stop. It really is a Language Of Pain veary few people speek
well. so please handle with care. love and blessed be
I shouldn't stay up late. It always seems to be then that I break; but i don't notice till later that i've broken. i've developed a nasty habit of scraping designs into my left leg with the blade of a utility knife while talking on IRC at 1am. I guess at one point i might have cut to cope with feelings, or i might have feelings i don't know about, but it's never really been about that. One plain and simple fact - i love my blood. I feel good when i look at the cuts on my legs and that should scare me but it doesn't for some reason. I'm not a deep cutter. I just scratch the surface but god i would love to push the blade in and watch myself bleed and bleed and bleed... I don't think i should sign my name "even heroes have the right to bleed." I cut again last night, not deep or anything thing. but I cut, I wasnt supose to cut. I didn't "need" to cut even, I wasnt depressed, I have been happy for a change. and I slash my lower calf. Now I'm ticked at myself. I feel like I've somehow failed. How the hell am I going to heal this in 5 days?! no ones going to fall for them being "cat" strachs(sp?) or from "blackberrys". I dont want to go though this anymore! I dont want to lie to ppls that wouldn't understand. Or the pitty in ppls eyes when I tell them the thuth. I don't want to hide my body. Sarah
I get very lonely sometimes, or I just feel like shit, and I think about cutting...but I can't do it. I can't hurt myself, like I want to, when I feel like I'm fucking up, or I've fucked people over without meaning to. I've gotten really depressed, and I think about cutting, but I just can't. Something in my head snaps, and I freak out. My skin just looks so delicate, and like cutting it would hurt too much. Today had good points and bad points, but I'd say it ended with me feeling lousy. So right now I'm feeling lonely and depressed, and I know there's nothing I can do about it except live with it until it passes. I can't inflict pain on myself. I found out two days ago that a friend of mine scratches...she doesn't cut exactly, just scratches the surface til it bleeds... I saw her scars, she's got visible ones now, you'd never have noticed before. She never told anyone until now, and it scares me. She's someone I'd never expect to do it. (and I know I shouldn't assume things.) She was telling me about it, she doesn't do it for attention, she avoids telling people at all. I wouldn't want my parents to notice, I wouldn't want to tell my friends, but I can't help being honest with people. And then it might get taken the wrong way. I just want to let go. *sigh*
is there anywhere where there's talk about burning? i haven't found it if there is.... thanks roya she knew that the answers were inside of her. somewhere. this was the only way she knew how to find them. (roya) -I don't want to post this if it seems inappropriate, I hope it doesn't... I just wanted to say that in my Wimmin's zine, if anyone cared to share anything about self-mutilation*cuttings*self-inflicted pain, I think it's an important topic to bring up... And I'm trying to bring up as many topics as possible that relate to being female/women's personal experiences. (If you don't mind me using something you wrote on here let me know as well.) I don't want to cross an invisible line and ask anyone personally to use their experiences in the zine, so I'd love it if you contacted me. Thanks. much love, Jennyrose (venusbitch42 at yahoo.com)-
<b>Torn Spirit</b> Remind me I live. Vital flood, Emerge Confident, Thoughtless, Ancient, When my body Weeps. Remind me: In the hidden corner of the Sphere of possibility Lurks My circumstance: Visibility, Without acknowledgement. Remind me, Swift-blossoming rose, How unnatural it is To enjoy your thorns. ~becca~ letter to self: darling, you can burn me and I'll bite back I can match it and my burns are Clean my bites open holes to let the ragesobhatepainwalls out and maybe you'll see me melt into the ground feel those bites bite back but when the ugly is gone we'll just see me drift away glowing and resting better than dead so when I'm alive again tomorrow morning you'll see that glow shining all over me and only we'll know those beautiful bright lamps are deep and dark they'll never leave us darling. -Miranda Pulse races, wounds throb In time with the hospital's crooning, Beyond the metaphor of a closed door. The anger, hatred won't return for a while. Here, I am pushed forcefully into an antiseptic, disapproving safety. I cry mockingly at the thought of nurses' shocked exclaimations, Doctors' withering glares, focused on my beautifully depressed scars, My knowledge of the stitches to come from this Dumb, blind search for Another tortured soul To grasp my yearning for a more simple pain. ~becca~ the love of your life slices, a common panic, a clear course through those muddy teenaged emotions, a raw edged swan whose mirror tells duckling lies. your scars tell similar tales and though this might, on a rational plane, foster a certain twisted camaraderie, love frustrates your ability to ignore her pain. double standards and admonishments lubricate your phone conversations, after her release. ~becca~ she's packing a knife in her back pocket ready to pull it out, ready to slice she laughs "you haven't tried it so don't knock it" but you know she's crying inside the red is filling up her bathroom the blood is filling up her soul i know that it sounds like some isolated incident but girls around the world are on a roll it's a bloody time to be a girl all my friends are bleeding all over the world cutting scars in their wrists or bleeding inside trying to resist failing to hide from the deep sadness from the red madness from the temptation from the sensation that we get when we close our eyes and just bleed (~summer) I don't cut myself anymore, but I used to... not really... okay, I had a couple of large warts on my foot, and at nights, some nights, I'd pick at them just to watch them bleed. It didn't hurt at all, it wasn't about the pain... but somehow, some nights, watching them bleed seemed to help something. "accidents" red deep blossoming slippery so much so fast overwhelming control dark like inside shocking nail polish hidden behind billowing clothes dark like thoughts i'm almost allowed to fades to yellow secrets bloom all over my body i didn't feel a thing /Jenny/ who was very impressed by sonja-miranda's claiming of anonymous words don't tell me it's because i wanted attention don't tell me it wasn't true don't tell me i don't have a right don't tell me anything i know why i did it i know how deep it was i know the liberation i felt i know the strength that came from it i know why I can't do it I can't think "this must stop" I /want/ to be right but I can't stop thinking _this_ is right this is strong this is oh so beautiful I hold my breath to touch feel remember these lines I drew show me who I'm made of they are my strength /They Are My _Right_/ -Miranda 'the world has simply been too heavy today,' Atlas shrugs ashamedly blood trickling a course between his shoulder blades. ~becca~ this is a really intense subject. i know several people who have cut themselves, including one of my best friends... and it hurts me to know that, but.. in a sense, i know i do the same thing. i make myself bleed sometimes... not with a knife, but... and it's not usually intentional in the sense that you would normally assume. it's just something i call a "habit" but it's really negative and hurtful if you think about it. it's not something i think about a lot. but i think blood is beautiful and interesting... i dont really know what else to say about it. wow. quite the subject to bring up...i never really thought i'd be telling so many people this kind of thing, but i may as well, since it's here... imaginary pain i once called it has been made to be all too real no one notices or they avert their eyes and i hastily cover the slashed arm with my fallen sleeve i wonder why they don't care to see? and at the same time that i drip tears, i eye a knife and picture, or look at the slice of lemon by my tea and wonder what it would feel like on fading etches. craving something so much that i know i have to stop, i tremble feeling so alone in a world of millions whose arms are bleeding. mine just don't bleed enough ~samara she'd like to not cringe when she feels the metal entering her skin. she'd like to not care she wants it to be easier the blade to go deeper to sit amidst blankets and not feel a thing only see lines of red blurring together and look down to see her hands smeared with blood she wishes it could be easier that she wouldn't care so much that she could just make the pain turn to vapors and drip out of her as easily as breath that she wouldn't even think about it again ~samara don't look at me don't empathize don't feel my pain don't know me don't remember me -Miranda I wrote this poem when I found out that a couple of my friends were self-destructive. And then all of a sudden it seemed like everyone but me tries to hurt themselves in as many ways as possible. The worst I do to myself is cut my nails very very short, so they don't actually hurt, but right on that line. It almost makes me feel like to really fit in and have friends, I should hurt myself so I have that much more in commen with them. It's not like I don't want to sometimes. And yeah, I'm going to be anonymous. :) She cuts herself She burns herself They write great poetry by the light of the new moon She knows so much about herself, and guys and parties She is the one people always remember for her personality They say they are sisters, laughing and crying together I bite my nails alone. "i cut" i have this image stuck in my head of cinderellablonde hair caked with blood of fingernails with red underneath of it all flowing from your arms whenever i imagine this you are a little girl and i am your mother, crying "my baby is bleeding, my baby is bleeding" but i'm a stone and i can't cry or put bandaids on or fix it and you're just gonna bleed and i'm just gonna feel it inside -summer your blood spirals down the bathroom drain and is pumped all over the U S A your pain bled red and now it's flowing from my faucet if i drink it or shoot it up will i understand better why you did it? will it stain my throat or my insides? will it stay, will it reside? will i be infused with your beauty or your shine? if i use it to wash my hair will my red red locks grow to reach you? spiral or curl out of control imitate what your soul must do when you hurt enough to cut will my hair slice itself short when it's had enough? if i shower in your blood it it filled up the sea if i soak up all your pain if it rains upon me would you then be set free? would the hurt finally let you be? -summer I updated my website to include some of what's been shared here (my poetry, and one of summer's). http://www.nbtsc.org/~becca/beauty I'm asking now if any of the rest of you who have posted here, or anyone who might in the future (or have something to say but will not necessarily put it here) would mind if I put your stuff up on my site. it would be tastefully done, simple and low-key, with credit if you want it or just an "anonymous" label. thanks, ~becca~
becca if you ever want to put up anything i write, fine by me ~samara yah... i know i haven't posted that much but if you want to use anything, feel free. also... your poetry is very beautiful. i don't know you very well... but you are an incredible writer! ~carsie ~*~ hiding the scarssharp silver shine i decided my favorite color was red years ago don't try to tell me no i see the scars on your wrists unspoken epidemic i fly through myself find my own world the one that belongs just to me red rivers flowing under dark skies this world traps us ties us down i have to be free have to find a way out i'm almost scared when it doesn't hurt anymore but hey we all escape the pain somehow what's wrong with our way? a goddess who prefers to remain anonymous for now. becca, feel free to put up anything i post here. yes, i cut. i admit it. i like the release, the feeling of flying, the escape. sometimes people see the scars, and yet they never really do, never want to admit to themselves that something like THAT could be happening right here to someone they know. that's for nuts, masochistic mental cases. sometimes i want to scream "no, i'm not insane, this is just what i do to save myself!" and it's true. i do save myself, in a way. it keeps me from suicide. and i'm sorry if you don't like hearing/reading this, but the topic is here, and i'm going to express myself. i know friends who cut too. we talk about it, make promises not to do it anymore and then admit we failed the next day. unhealthy? probably. but when i feel the razor slice into my skin, those few seconds are when i feel free. the lightheadedness gives me a feeling of being detached from this world, and the pain afterward reminds me the escape is always there, waiting. This is something I'd be interested in talking about. I feel like I have a lot to say... but this is not the place, too many eyes here. Maybe I'll put up a poem or something later... I wonder if there's any other way to talk about this that's a little less public, a chat or something (I don't know, maybe it's not a good idea... just a suggestion) ~*~ i'd be up for it...i think people would be more comfortable discussing this in a less public place. perhaps irc? ~silent goddess~ ~*~ That sounds good, but I don't know who else is interested (if you are, please speak up :)) I'm wondering if everyone's like me, keeping this secret inside but dying to talk about it with people who understand or can listen... I hope so.. ~*~ i am. i do want to discuss this...i'm going to be bold and put out an email address: faeriechild at goplay.com. email me, anyone. let's talk...please? ~silent goddess~ ~*~ Silent Goddess, you've got mail. "No one could ever hurt her again as much as she could hurt herself." ~Marilee Strong "That was when I cut my arms as a means of creative expression. I only did it lightly, just grazing the skin, to see the way the blood would bleed out, to make myself look tougher. Not like some of those kids who keep going deeper and deeper, wondering what they look like down to the bone, because it's a world so close and yet so far and so dangerous and so much their own. The only world that is their own." -Violet & Claire, Francesca Lia Block how dare I be afraid of fire of burning how dare I betray what I've done who I've made from my self pretty campfire so close I'm cringing I could reach right into the embers let my hand melt crackle sizzle all gone black bone cinders drift peacefuly up gone empty hush -Miranda Bugger, nasty question. (ramble begins..) Pain is scary because it can make things real. It's the numbness and the not being able to feel things that scare me at lest to death. I dont mind emotion, its when i get stuck on one or stuck in a cycle, or worst of all, go totally numb till i cant feel anything at all. Thankfully (? I think?) I havent been to the point of cutting myself nor do i plan to. But trying to maintain that kind of loveing force around your body to protect it is damn fucken scary. I can understand it, which is scary. I was so damn close to being anorexic in my early teens its hardly funny. i dont know how i got out okay, or if i even did. I think we all get into points where you just know you should go sit on a couch some place safe till the feeling passes. There are some days i just dont go near water. It just scares me too much, i dont go near lakes rivers oceans or sharp objects. i miss the winter. -Dawn Later sub rant: sometimes i wonder if the pain of those around me doesnt bother me more then the pain inside me. I can handle whats wrong inside me, or i think i can or i hope i can. but others? Loveing other people ties me to them, it makes me connected to them. Its giving them a piece of my soul. Its damn scary. I like to think i am an independent creature, but the reality is is that the highs and the lows of the people around me do effect me. Part of me wants to be angry that so many of my fellow children are in so much pain and angry at adults for not clueing in earlier. love Dawn
pain ugliness sin repentance seeking forgiveness. jagged red lines heal too quick not quick enough! pathetic anxiously pleading look away don't notice that i don't want you to look away. wow. okay. i was fine reading other people's thoughts on cutting... people i don't really know. i even managed to feel only slightly jagged when i read what sam wrote... my dearest friend. and the thoughts about attention seeking and wanting to look "tough" and even the unbelievable poetry. but then i read the marilee strong quote someone posted... "no one could ever hurt her again as much as she could hurt herself."... and i began sobbing and i still haven't stopped. after all the dissecting it and talking about it and therapy and poetry i've been through... this is the first time ever i really <i>understand</i> why i did it for so long. because i have been hurt. because i keep getting hurt over and over again. because each time seems more painful than the last. so somewhere along the way i thought, "what if i cause myself pain... real pain... physical pain... that what more can they do to me?" so i began scratching at my wrists until they were raw. then, later, i did it until they bled. then i used safety pins. then knives. then razors. every time i cut deeper until i finally scared myself out of it... the night i didn't think i would stop bleeding. so i finally promised not only my friends but myself, too. i promised i wouldn't hurt myself anymore. and i haven't. but i swear letting go of that imaginary shield i created was the hardest thing i've ever done. maybe the hardest thing i'll ever do. it is more addictive than cocaine. it is absolutely justifyable each time, absolutely satisfying. and the scars last forever. and after you believe they can't hurt you worse... after you've gotten the attention you want... after you've proven yourself, the scars stay there. and yes, you regret it. but it is also the biggest impact you've ever made. and that is scary. and seductive. so i'm admitting it now. the happy angel-winged pixieish fairy-in-a-teacup has some dark secrets too. i was never really happy... and i cut. but i survived. so thank you for giving me some ramble space. ~carsie~ I'm feeling a bit braver, after what carsie and dawn and others have written. I'll ramble, too. the first contact (that I can remember) that I had with cutting was when one of my closest friends (possibly the closest, besides my boyfriend) told me that he cuts himself. that was a little scary... I think I did the obligatory "don't do that" speech the first time. but then, a little while later, I came across this girl's webpage, talking about cutting. I became fascinated... I had known so little, and it was amazing the doors that opened as I started looking. funny, really, how invisible things are, but only because they're not "socially acceptable". funny, too, how acceptable other "personality disorders" are... anorexia and bulemia are practically badges of honor in american junior and senior high schools. but as I was saying... I learned. and I began examining my personal approach to pain. I've always been fascinated with pain. when I get hurt, I always have this little part of me standing back watching, probing, exploring the sheer intensity and feeling. I've also got a lot of empathic tendencies, so I have an extremely vivid imagination when others tell of pain... to the point where I get phantom injuries, regardless of whether or not I have ever really experienced any type of similar pain. I both don't want to and crave being a cutter. I've never been through any experiences heavy enough to legitimately need it, so I feel like a fraud, like a poser. but there's this draw... there's something enticing about not being completely healthy, about having some kind of self-destructive addiction. I don't drink. I drive safely. I've never done drugs... I don't even like Tylenol. I spend money wisely, I never stay out past my curfew, I am a virgin. I'm responsible... a "good kid". I flirt... I can hold my own in a conversation on sex and experimentation... I guess in a way my sexuality and the way I relate to other people is how I rebel from traditional societal expectations. I don't have walls... I'm out in the open about everything, and I trust people with my heart. but I want a problem, in a lot of ways. sometimes I feel like I can't see my life clearly... I can't make out where things are going and what I am doing and what I even want. sometimes I need something to concentrate on... some kind of way to take me out of my head. I'm drowning in my own thoughts, and I have to figure out some mode of escape. mother culture's voice is whispering in my ear that it's much more fashionable to be psychologically unbalanced than to be productive and nice and aware of what's good for you. I hate it, yet I fall for the trap every time. I have fantasies about cutting. I think scars are beautiful... and it's a mark of status in my mind to have them; I show my few off any chance I get. I have this overly romantic Ophelia complex... I think I want to be pitied. I want to be the weak one, the dependent one, the drama queen. I want to not worry all the time about how other people are feeling, and focus on me. I want to be depressed, angry, sad. sometimes it's hard to be happy all the time... no one expects me to be sad, so when I am it's hard to explain. I'll finish this later. ~becca~ You never did finish, and I'm interested in hearing what more you have to say. Is there an ending at all? "give me life, give me pain, give me myself again..." -Tori Amos, Little Earthquakes I could never really bring myself to cut...slapping, though.. "some people will cut you til you're bleeding but not me cause i just want to do it to myself." -adam duritz (counting crows) Remember this feeling. Use it next time. <b>it doesn't feel any better.</b> It's a temporary high that drops to an unbelievable, lasting low. You feel guilty and dirty and like you've betrayed the world, and this is not worth it. <b>blood is not comfort.</b> You feel orange and jagged I know, but knives don't smooth edges, and pain doesn't make up for anger. Or hurt, or jealousy, or dissaproval. You are worth the discomfort of resisting. Nothing looks as bad as it did once this passes. <i>You are not weak.</i> <b>there will not be a next time.</b> ~carsie I cut myself. I have been doing it for years. It is the best release for the extreme emotional pain I feel everyday. I have been good about it lately. I have not cut myself in about three months. Part of it started out of the lack of control over everything in my life. I could control my pain for awhile. When I cut myself I feel such bliss. It is one of the best highs. My whole body tingles and it cleanses me of all that makes me feel dirty, awful, and empty. It is temporary, and I don't do it everyday. When I am especially frantic and can't calm down, I take my razor and begin to slice across my pale arms. The red soon appears and I begin to smile. The warmth of the blood causes me to sigh deeply. I will sit there for an hour and just bleed. I know what I do is not healthy, it really worries my mom. She understands, she used to cut and scratch herself a lot, but she does not like it. The embarrassment of cutting yourself is, having to wear long sleeves, because if people see it, they look at you and treat you like you are a leper. The scars are also a bother to deal with, because you are asked about it, and you have to explain why you are so emotionally fucked up. It grows weary after awhile. No, I am not trying to kill myself. I used to, a lot. No I am not crazy. I just hurt alot emotionally and I deal with it everyday. It is just...difficult sometimes. I really have to fight to not cut myself...and when my mother finds tissue with blood, she just looks at me and might ask. I wish I could stop forever, yet this is something I can control and will hold onto. -Gennie I'm starting a list of well-known|famous people who have or do self-injure. Feel free to add to it.
"when everything seems like the movies, you bleed just to know you're alive..." -Goo Goo Dolls, Iris Uh... I hate to admit it, but I often delibrately slap myself. It is usually after I make a mistake. I get disgusted and then I can't seem to continue on without hurting myself. I go crazy and start thinking things like, "Look what you did! How could you do be so stupid as to do that?! All you ever make is messes! You should be punished!" When I hurt myself I feel like I've been punished properly and I can stop obsessing with what I did wrong. okay. i don't cut. i've thought about it... i've seen the large, seraded knife sitting on the kitchen counter. "i can take you on", i've thought. because it's my choice, and no one elses. but no... the pain would last too long, and i don't have the time. i've imagined the pretty blade cruising through the texture of my tissue. wondered if i'm tough enough. scars are marks of life and with every scar that i've obtained, i've flaunted it and boasted it. a sign of my self worth? a pretty little scar below my palm, an addition to the bodily symbols. a love, a beauty, an angel, a star shining on my existence... a little girl i know. the demons can't leave her be, and late at night she sees death. he never fails, he's never late. always reminding her that she could lose it all with the wrong move. a temptation she used to think she wasn't vulnerable to. one night he asked her, told her that if she took the silver blade from the cabinet and swiftly ran it across her wrists, everything would end. all the turmoils of her life... gone. she wept, and due to a temptation almost too strong to resist, she took the blade. she shaved her arms. why? i want to protect you, love. sprinking salt on my arm, taking the ice cube and holding it... hard. it stings so bad. it pulses, throbs... it swells. a purple welt of irritated veins. it stings for a while. but then it's gone. the last one left a scar. i can't boast it like the others.. sometimes feeling close to anorexia. "i love you down to the bones". food sometimes not seeming necessary. liking the way my tummy shrinks and moans. chubby twelve year old, i didn't used to wear halter-tops. but french fries are too tempting... sometimes i don't think i'm being punished enough. sometimes i act so stupidly, i'm the only person who can rightly slap myself across the face. but once i deemed him worthy. i had truly disgusted myself with my actions, and in the process i felt as if i had repelled him... i had scared him off. and so i asked him to punish me. i asked him for a slap across the face. he acted unknowlingly, but he gave me what i was looking for. pain had never felt so good as when he punished me for he knew not what. ~naomi~ What's even sicker than cutting on yourself to feel better? When it doesn't work. Fuck. I didn't know that Johnny Depp cut on himself, it seemed like a girl thing. Interesting. Actually I have found just as many guys who hurt themselves as girls, cutting included. Cutting has been compared to eating disorders, which are also considered a "girl thing", so that may be why you hear more about girls doing it than guys.
life scares me so much...i dont understand it. i havent cut in awhile. it gets easier. to tell you the truth, what has helped me feel stronger is that carsie has quit too. when i heard she cut again (a long time ago now) i just broke down. i know it's stupid to base things like that on other people, but it made me so sad, she is my dearest girl and it was way worse than even feeling her pain...because i wished it was me. but i think the main motivation for my not doing it lately is that one of my close friends told me that, if he found another cut on me, he would have me committed to a mental hospital. that really scared the shit out of me. i don't know much about that kind of thing, but i've read enough (hell, just check out girl, interrupted) to know it's plausible. that, and the fact that he took my knife from me.... as carsie was saying...i duno, it was just one thing leading to another. it's been about 3 years since i really began, if you can call the mentality a beginning. it creeped me out, but fascinated me...seeing the craft only heightened my horror and interest in it. then the more and more i was unhappy, the more and more it became the first thing i thought of...then last year i accidently slit my wrist cutting an apple, and the non-ending blood was almost addicting. i took to drawing in red and blue ink all over my wrists and up and down my veins, like track lines. eventually, i went the same path as carsie. i scratched, then used safety pins, then knives, then razors. i never cut as deep as i wanted to. it sounds so sick to say a thing like that. it also scared me to tell people, but at the same time, i wanted everyone to know. but afterwards, i felt like a freak. either they told me i was doing it for attention, looked at me as if i was seriously ill, or blurted out that i was fucking stupid. i just felt bad. at the same time, it was like i was trying to show or accomplish something. i was sick of the image i thought people had of me as this happy sweet innocent girl. i was sick of not having a strong blatant form of expression, in terms of pain. i wanted to feel something that hurt more than what i was already feeling. i wanted people to see that there was more to me. and the blood was like a reward. i'm sorry if this is too graphic, or if you all don't really want to hear about it. i just felt the need to blurt something out. i sank so deep into it that i thought i might end up dead, and so that's when i panicked, and went to therapy. as i said, i didn't cut too deep. i thought i was a wus, but maybe i was just holding on to common sense. at the same time, i insisted that i was pathetic and that they wouldn't scar. however, they did. and they're not pretty. it still kind of freaks me out when people find out. most people don't notice unless they look for scars on a regular basis, probably because it becomes kind of a habit once you've done it. it always lingers in the back of my mind in some sense, a trickle of an obsession. it used to be that if i felt stupid, embarrassed, out of control, numb, desperate, horribly lonely, depressed, melancholy...whatever, i would think "i can cut later" and i could get through the moment with that thought of 'relief'. so now i had to learn better ways of dealing with my life. don't get me wrong. i have a hell of a lot of good in my life. the dark shades can seem so overpowering at times though. i felt so alone, so often. i wanted to scream at everyone that i am not that ditzy happy priss i seem at camp. so now you all can know. but as carsie said...no one is really alone...and it is just a temporary relief. really, it causes more pain. i don't know why we think that inflicting pain will relieve it. cause really, it doesn't. be it mental pain, bleeding arms, bleeding souls, bruises, burns, throwing up, smoking, drinking, or ripped hair. i hope this didn't trigger anyone, it's just my little story. i think that ultimately i realized that i didn't need to feel intense pain to be loved. that sounds ridiculous, but it's true. and i think if everyone goes out of their way to show each person they meet a little love, to show they're something special on this planet...i especially think we here should do this for each other...then we can bring out the strength in each other, and get just that much farther along at being more joyful or content, and less tragic torn and spent. everyone just needs someone to care and understand. love and kisses from a surviving ~~~~SaMARA~~~ Sometimes insanity is freeing. The art of drowning in your own pain is a powerful one, hard to put into words so other objects of communication must be used instead. Blood pulses through your veins and is viewed as something inside you; letting is out is a shocking reality mingled with the desire for fantasy. ---
no one has seemed to put anything new on this page in a long time, or maybe it's all at the top or something. anyway, just writing to let you all know that i quit cutting entirely. i slipped up and carved into my arm, i was so unhappy and i wrote all over paper and on my wall in my own blood, but that was the last. i decided i'm sick of things that make me unhappy, i'm fucking tired of it. i'm so relieved now. thank you carsie, i love you, we made it, my angel-girl!!! I Wanted a scar, and now I have one. I read your words of pain and hurt and how you feel disgusted, or satisfied, and think "I'm not like you" I don't understand your need nor your anguish. It is fascinating and addictive, my mark was considered, much like a tattoo but even so, when you make your own blood flow it.... intrigues you, dark and hungrily. I like it, I love my mark, and I recut it as much for fun as decoration..... Blessed Be ~Lisa I'm scared of breaking my skin, but I slap and hit myself when I do something stupid. I didn't know anyone else did that, untill I saw "American Beauty" and saw the real estate broker wife looking exactly like me after a failed house sale. Someone behind me in the theater laughed, and I wanted to rip his balls off. Except I hit myself a lot harder than she did. Probably because I have high-ish pain tolerence from my years in kung fu. So I hit myself and repeat "Fuck you, you stupid bitch" under my breath until I'm about to scream from the pain, and then I stop 'cause I don't want to disturb anybody. It's not a release for me I want to say "how it all started" but as far back as I can think I can remember weird little things I've done. getting scared of a guy when I was thirteen and scraping a big patch of skin off the back of my hand with a letter opener, compulsively digging into the hole with my nails whenever I saw him. sitting backstage at a theatre class when I was eight after getting bitched at about my clothes by the instructor and carefully calmly slicing a crossatching pattern around my wrist like a bracelet. okay, so now I do it a lot. it leaves big bad obvious scars all lined up. but I'm starting to understand, this shit was always part of me. it doesn't matter how loudly I do it or if I do it at all, it'll always be a piece of what I am. -Miranda So, I used to cut myself. Nothing deep. Nothing life threatening. Just enough to see blood and feel pain. I haven't done that in.. 9 months I'd say. But I've wanted to. I haven't, but I've wanted to. I've been too scared to. Because I know people will notice now, because they know I used to do it. Let me think about this.. I'm NOT cutting myself any more, but if I had the oppertunity, if the blade was handy and there wasn't a chance people would notice, I definately would. Physically the cutting isn't there any more. But mentally it still is. So am I any better off? It's not like I'm not self destructive any more. I am. Maybe not as much as I was 9 months ago, but it's still there. Just not in a way that'll show any marks. Which in my mind almost makes it seem like cheating. The thing that disturbs me most about all this is how easy it is for me to talk about now, and how natural it seems. It's not right. Zen - Who had a qoute from the song 'Hurt' by NiN as part of this message and then felt kind of silly and melodramatic for putting it there. I Don't Know What Went Wrong! I've hardly hurt myself at all in a long time, just biting my hands and such, I even cut my nails off, but today I was at a Thanksgiving dinner and this guy who's usually really sweet made some Slightly homophobic joke, and I just got so lost I couldn't focus my eyes, I kept seeing blood pouring out of him and then me and then him again back and forth, so I ran upstairs and shoved a sofa against the door and started sawing and clipping at my hand with these really dull kiddie scisors I found, I couldn't stop. I've never "been a cutter", it's not how I thought I saw pain, I'm scared. I've got four paralel little lines on the back of my thumb, and all these little holes where I clipped with the tip of the scisors, but (I didn't want to admit this) I found a saftey razor and smashed it open to get at the two little blades and I cut two deep marks in what's left of the soft pretty skin on my wrist and they bled and Bled and it got on his carpet when I lost my balance and I slipped down into my panic world but I kept Trying to dig my nails down into the cuts smearing the blood up my arms like I could cover myself up and hide that way. This Isn't Me! I feel so scared, I thought I'd feel better once I threw up but then I couldn't stop until I saw blood, I tried to meditate in a closet downstairs and ended up banging my head against the wall until I blacked out, even now I'm home I'm scared, scared of going back to that guys place, scared of eating, scared of talking to people, Anything that might be like tonight. I feel... Homesick, I don't know how or why or even what the fuck that Means, but the words "I Want To Go Home" keep screaming around my head, I just want some peace. let me out. -Miranda I hadn't done it in a long time...a month at least. but I was so sad that one night. and because of a boi! I just...I don't know. I loved him, but he loved someone else who loved someone who loved her back. and I thought about that, and about going home, and about my last boi who still loves me and who always loved me more than I loved him and about some of my friends who I should have been taking better care of at camp and I felt guilty and depressed and angry at myself for...everything. I got caught up in the deep blue mix of emotions, and I felt like I would drown if I didn't do something, so I took my razor blade and went into the bathroom and locked the door and tried to create my own piece of driftwood to cling to. nine red lines criss-crossed my wrist, thin but deep. one bled so much I was almost afraid that I'd cut a vein. I almost hoped I had. it's strange how it doesn't even hurt anymore. the marks are fading now, hidden under new cuts, disguised by bruises. sonja, my dearest, you cut because you wanted to go home. I cut because I am home.
I feel like I should write something here. I haven't hurt myself in months, since back when everything was glitter or blood, not shades of gray. For a really really long time, I kept everything inside. I'd be this happy sparkly perky person who'd go out and party and everything would be cool, I was always nice, I was always gentle, I never talked about problems, I didn't have problems, I didn't cry. Then I'd go home and I'd hide in my room and cry, or hide in the bathroom and cut myself. But nowhere that would show. I guess some people do it for attention but I always hid my cuts so well, or had a really clever excuse. I think the scars are disgusting, I think self-destruction is repulsive. But then I got on this honesty kick, so I told people my secrets, and I told people my methods of coping. I guess it felt good, short term, and it made things easier. I felt like I wasn't hiding anything, like I had this weight lifted off my chest. But everyone's eyes were filled with pity. Everyone was so concerned, everyone felt so sorry for me. And that's not what I wanted, really. I thought I wanted people to help me, to take care of me, but that feels like shit. After a couple of months being sad a lot and outrageously hyper and happy the rest of the time, I went through a conflict that left me afraid to show people how fucked up I was, how scared I was, how much I was hurting inside. I discovered I could go numb, just block out my feelings entirely. Now there's this beautiful shell around my heart. It looks like dragon scales. Nothing anyone says can hurt me anymore. But I can't feel anything anymore. I want to be sad, I want my nightmares, I want to hurt, if that means I can feel joy again, if I can play music again, if I can write (I haven't been able to write more than one song and a handful of poems since June when I stopped cutting), if I can feel love. I want to take back everything I've told my friends, I wish they didn't know anything, I want everything to be secret. I wish I could cut myself, sometimes, it's on my mind alot, but I'm afraid people would find out, and worry about me. I don't want to affect anyone else. This is between me and my demons. And I guess my choice is numbness, or fucking people over, so I guess I'll take numbness. I taught myself how to play Hurt on guitar, I hadn't planned on it, I mean it's really hard even on piano and I just started learning guitar, but I just started to try and my fingers just found the right frets, it was really fucking uncanny. And yeah I guess it is a little melodramatic but I was able to remember how much that song used to mean to me, I could almost feel it again, and I did realize something cool, that this is the first time in my life that I've been able to honestly sing the last verse. If I could start again, a million miles away, I would keep myself, I would find a way. Because for such perverse reasons I've finally discovered that I'm a pretty cool person who I care about a lot. I guess that's all I have to say for now. Jenny "You're not even old enough to know how bad life gets." "Obviously, Doctor, you've never been a 13 year old girl." -The Virgin Suicides wanna hear something kind of pathetic? i hit myself on the head with the blowdryer today. on purpose. i tugged at my hair until i thought my scalp would bleed... and then i looked at my reflection and couldn't tell wether i wanted to laugh at my idiocy or cry at my pain. i didn't like the way i was looking. i didn't like how important it was to me at the time that my hair was less than perfect. i didn't like it that i felt shallow. i wanted to rip my hair out of my scalp so that my bald head might be hideous, but my eyes... my eyes would still shine brightly... would they not? i don't know. sometimes i just want to change. -moth on cutting I don't know WHY people always ask me why all I know is that my heart Beats loudly and I know for sure I am alive I feel clean afterwards like I just shaved my legs and everything rolls off, smooth as silk. Then the pounding calms, and I am left with 2 more lines of poetry. royaboya Last night, after a date with a safety pin, I snuck out to the kitchen and looked for a knife. I haven't cut with an actual knife yet. I've used safety pins and scissors, that's it. But our kitchen was a mess, and all the sharp knives were dirty. i had this weird little thing - like it was below me to use a knife that i had to wash. i was kind of wrapped up in the whole "romance" of it, and to have to wash the knife first royaboya last night i went on a sort of rampage and collected knives and screwdrivers and safety pins and scissors, and horded them by my bed. knives are easier. scarier too. my arms are so white and the lines so red. i have to train myself to be left handed so i don't accidently stick my arm in front of someone's eyes. royaboya god, it's so fucking confused, I don't even know if I want to stop. if hating being debilitated out-weighs hating everything and everyone, and I know I will. if I don't let myself hate me, where does all that hate go? into my family, into the things I'm responsible for, I can't take a chance like that! but it gets more debilitating every time I break down, when cutting and burning take too much thinking sometimes I just pound on my face, on my head, sometimes I taste blood, sometimes I get a headache and throwup, but whenever I stop I feel like such a wimp, like that last little punch was too much for me, how dare I not be able to take that, so I light in again. but then the rest of that day and maybe the next are gone and I feel like I'm breathing and thinking through steelwool. how am I supposed to carry on a normal life like this? it's been three days and my head still hurts, I can't go outside, I've stopped throwing up at least, but what about next time and the time after? I know if I don't hit myself I'll hit someone else, without this I have No self control in a fight, if I can't just glaze over and open my arm I Will Hurt My Family, I can't face that. -Miranda Some thoughts: I was walking down the street today, after a series of horrible weird stressful things happened, and wanting and wanting to just cut. Just get the pain out. I didn't, and I won't, just because I don't, but it did get me thinking. There is the pain, the "triggers" if you will (what a corny word), and then there is our reaction to that pain. There's that separation, which was never quite so stark to me before. I have a whole space now, a breath, a barrier, that gives me time to decide how I want to react. Do I want to call Zen and bitch at him about my ruined life and have him make me laugh? Do I want to smash all my roommates' dishes? Do I want to cut myself? Do I want to read, go for a walk, smoke too much, go to bed? Over time, I have been able to stretch out that space of decision. That's how I've stopped. That's the only advice I can give, from my life. Create that space. Let it live. And acknowledge the pain, turmoil, confusion, whatever, that the cutting is stemming from. I'm not the great goddess of advice. I've just...been there. And don't be too hard on yourself for going back. If your ultimate goal is to stop, you will stop. And if it helps for now, while you're working to change the outside stressors, well, let it help. And if your reaction to that is rage at "how could she not care", understand: I care about your fear, and your pain. How you express it is up to you.
I don't think. I mean, I suppose I'm thinking about what I'm going to type next, but as a rule I just don't Think a hell of a lot. especially not ahead, I have barely any concept of future repurcusions most of the time. so I slit open my arm, or the tidy place above the side of my wrist bone, whenever I'm alone and don't think about how long this alone will last. will it last until the blood clots? even when I know it won't, theoretically, I'm alone now so now it's okay, somehow. and then I have to ram the cloth I keep my razors in up my sleeve to catch the blood where no-one can see. I want to ramble, I want to write big long doodly paragraphs that express everything about how I feel, but everything in me feels so numb and small, it's hard. I cut during break at choir. shit, history. I used to just burn, but burns are bright and loud and ugly and last for weeks, especially the way I pick at them, and last year around thanksgiving (canadian) I started cutting, which was so different, so completely different. but now it's just another part of me, like my bites and burns and scratches, it's there on my body and in my soul. but I stopped for a while, swore I wouldn't do anything over new-years because of all the unschoolers that were staying at my place. but them I started freaking out when I was out in public, which I used to never do, so I started packing my razors wrapped in a cloth, just for emergencies. ya bull. now I've got a shoulder bag with, among other things, my razors, my lighter and my screwdriver, and I lose my mind if I forget them at home. yeah of course it's an addiction. but on the whole, for all that it debilitates and trashes me, I don't think I could face the person I am without it. I'm not someone anyone here, or anyone at all, would like. I've seen that other me through the cracks in my blissy carved up front, and in what I was before I started, and I'm scared of me too. she's extremely violent, there's more rage and blood lust in her than I can really understand. when I'm angry at myself or hurt I imagine blood pouring out of the veins in my wrist and neck, but when she's angry at anyone she wants to Do that to Other People. I can't face a person like that. I know that she could really kill a person and not be sorry and that Terrifies me, how Dare I think of throwing away my razors and letting her out on the world? would I even exist? if she took over, would the sweet motherly worried person talking now even exist? would I only be visible down between the floor boards in Her mind? would I still be there enough to witness the kind of person she'd make out of me? I Can't Do That. I love the people and the world around me too much to destroy it like that, and I know she would. -Miranda "I cannot save you, you can't even save yourself, "You cannot save me, I can't even save myself..." i almost cut again last night, after weeks of not doing it. i was down, really down. and it was cold, so my scars popped up, reminding me. it would have been so nice, so easy, to just slash a few times, and feel better. but my bag with my swiss army knife was at the other end of the house, and i was in bed, and it was really cold.. so i didn't. i just lay there and cried and didn't know what was wrong with me. but i didn't cut. and i'm proud, i guess. i still don't know if it makes any difference, being as i still WANT to cut.
I want to live. I like living. But I don't want to live here any more. I don't want to be a part of this world. i want to mark this time of anger and self-disgust. i want a new shining scar as rememberance of the sort of times you'd rather just forget. i want to remember. i want to hurt and scream and bleed and then.. to heal. to heal but to remember. i want to remember. but i'm not sure if i want to do this. "you're breathing, so i guess you're still alive even though signs seem to tell me otherwise" and maybe it's a girl thing. and maybe it has something to do with our bleeding every month. without a doubt. and maybe we'd like to be in charge of the red flow for a change... can somebody SqueezeRoyaBoya, please? i cut yesterday again, after weks and weeks of not doing it. i don't even know why. but i could use someone else's arms around me, even if it's just reading it on a computer screen. ...thank you... i'm feeling horribly alone at the moment. i dont cut anymore tho sometimes of course i would like to. i think it never goes away, no matter how much you want to pretend that it's gone. it's always with you. i mean i don't even have to be that miserable to do it. tho the last time i did it i was so scared that all i could do was hold my arm together and rock back and forth in shock. but i dont do it now. i dont want to want to. -mina yet are there no men on this page ok here i em admitting to every one about what i have done about how i have messed my self up how i have fallen in love and how i have almost comitted suicide (5 times.) actuly i dont know why i cut, i think its becouse i wonder if im loved, if people care about me, if they worry if im exepted, im not shure but i dont like it i hate cuting it makes people scered. about suicide i've cut my writs befor (small cuts) but stil i have donr that alot in the past, but now i have some one who dose care who dose lisen when im sad and i thank her for that thank you heather for being there to talk to when i needed it thank you for loveing me thank you for being who you are. i love you all and if enny one of you needs to talk to some one call me ok? (970) 626 5022. Thomas
even thoe i've gone thrue hell and back i think im gunna be ok! ~thomas~
Damn you. You cut yourself because you failed your learner's permit test, because you think you are stupid. Because you didn't concentrate enough. Because you're scatterbrained. Most of the time you aren't even sure why you do it, it's just the first thing you think of under pressure: the razorblade. That's why you made Dad drive you home (you said you needed to change your clothes). No matter what amazing, positive things you think and do, it always comes back to the place where you're terrified that you can't keep up. And you need something to quell the fear.
language of pain its something i speek verry well-thomas bleeding and crying: a nice combo (sarcastically said) pants smeared with blood leg dipping with it tears runing freely down blood and tears mixed both showing so much pain the tears more then the blood a language of pain written in a script un read drawn with a pencil unseen but felt and yoused be menny harts and menny bodies a Language of pain the scares on my writs and hands my tear staind face my fragile hart a language of pain with blood stains on my floor and sharp knives on my desk a LANGUAGE OF PAIN its what we feel its what we see its what is in our blood... ~thomas~ "I'm female, almost 19, first cutting at 16, just finished freshman year of college. And I have everything in the world except my self, if that makes sense." blood isn't the same as nostalgia and, no, it won't bring you back to times when you weren't scared when you were happy and whole but were you ever that way? scars aren't the same as battle and, yeah, you might acknowledge what you've been through when you look at the jagged lines but will it end the war? knives aren't the same as love though sometimes you can forget that you ever needed more than this and sometimes you can take comfort in cultivating your misery down to a fine art, on your body. but will it ever bring you home again? your sharp glass world looks enticing and pain can be so sweet but i miss your smile.
It's always worse at night maybe if I take this blade and drag it across my skin the hurt will seep out like my blood seeps out the scratch that I made in my upper arm like my blood seeped out of the cut I made in my wrist when I was ten years old It doesn't even seem real anymore the pain has become part of me and it feels like to take it away would be to take away part of myself and I tell myself I'll stop and I tell myself they'll find out but somehow when it's late and I get the time to think it seems like that's the only thing that will keep me hanging on I always cut on my left leg. Usually the inside of my left ankle. It's often no more than a scratch because I can never find sharp blades but I've had some deeper cuts. I can't really explain reasons for cutting. It changes each time. For the most part it's just feeding the addiction. I love pain. I love the color of my blood. I don't cut and don't cut...and then one day I say, "ok, maybe one little cut." This is going to sound really morbid and terrible, but something inside literally goes "yay!" and i feel like a little kid on christmas morning. Almost. I used to be afraid to, always wanted to but was too afraid so I hit and slapped and smacked into things on purpose. It was at camp that I started. I got addicted to blood playing quarters. Then one morning, 4am, everyone had gone to bed, I went into the girl's bathroom and cut myself about 5 times. And that's kind of how it's been since then. I went through a couple weeks of cutting almost everynight, until people really started noticing. I held off for awhile, until Lotus's party one night. I was washing dishes and felt really bad and fustrated about nothing and everything. I put down the dish, went in the bathroom, and cut myself 3 times with a brand new razor. Then i went back to washing dishes. I could feel the blood running down my ankle into my sock and I wanted to tell someone but i didn't know anyone who was a cutter there, and I find that non-cutters get really freaked out. If not to your face, inside. I know i did when i found out my friend cut. So now here i am, not planning on cutting until this one heals at least. I'll have to find a new spot, my mom has noticed that my ankle is perpetually cut up and she's not going to buy the bike story much longer. I find myself noting sharp blades and wondering how it would feel to cut with each one. And somewhere in me I know that it's probably wrong and I should stop before i sink lower, but i like it, plain and simple and morbid.
they have all told me that its sick and morbid and disgusting and wrong and even fucked up to cut. no one but myself has told me that it feels good like kisses it feels deeper then a hug its more connected then what i think sex would be. frankly ive stooped showing my slit wrists around my friends because you all know what i mean when i say i fucking hate hiding my body. frankly i LOVE you red scars. my boyfriend has been the only one to tell me that its ok to cut. and i guess i let myself believe that in my own time. till then i have a poem that anyone can read and copy and do whatever you want to it just remember my name ~~~~ i cut to remember i bleed to forget. i cut for a new life that i'll never get i cut for last week when i was a knotty girl now im just a broken dall now im just a shattered peril. i slash my wrist because it feels good i love those soft kisses across my skin i can draw pretty pictures there with my pin i cut yes i know im such a bitch i hate myself is that a glitch? i bleed for last week when i was just a little girl i bleed for this week when im going to be a shattered peril i bleed for yesterday when i wasnt so fucking scarred now im left to wonder does anyone care?
"...under my sleves where my wrists split theres a person makup isnt making.." a poem i will some day soo write. Heather Question to those who cut: How are others to react to you? If I know someone cuts themself, how can I be supportive and encouraging to them? How can I help? Is it wrong to bring up the topic of cutting? Are there other things that people around can do?
i wear it like a fashion girl wears lipstick. i crave it like a druggy craves drugs. i do it like i don't care cuz i simply don't. i wear it on my wrist to show where i've been where i'm going and how low i've actually gone. i don't cover it up because, i am at peace with the fact that i sometimes hate myself. i show my cuts simply because i refuse to pretend that i'm someone i'm not. i am not proud of my scares and i do not brag. cutting is an addition and more people should see it as that. i'm not doing this to hurt you, in fact it has nothing to do with you. i'm doing this because every heroes have the right to bleed. "Ow. It hurts." "Well, good."
I read this page all the time and I feel for all of the people who have posted here.I have gone through many of the same things you guys have talked about.I to cut to cope with the stress life brings.I thought it only fair to post since all of you people were brave enough to share.If anyone ever wants to talk or needs support my e-mail addy is: naveed at nbtsc.org ~Jackie What if I want to be a cutter? What if that is who i am? What if I don't want to be "stronger?" Whose to say that white is white and black is black and cutting is bad? There's a woman who's walking toward the wrong side of town There's a little girl skating who keeps falling down There's a boy on the corner without any shoes and a man in the casino with nothing to lose They may not know it, but they are angels in disguise They don't seem to know it, but they are angels in my eyes Angels in my eyes and they are all beautiful and they are all strong and they are all voices singing, together, in one song I wish you'd stop breaking, please stop falling down Come with me, let's go flying till we can't see the ground But you're in love with the razor, breaking your skin You're in love with the starving and trying to be thin Please try to see how perfect you are Just like the moonlight Just like a star You may not know it, but you are an angel in disguise You don't seem to know it, but you are an angel in my eyes Angel in my eyes And you are so beautiful And you are so strong And you are all those voices singing, together, in one song this is for all of you, because I love you NBTSWikiWiki | Recent Changes Edited 248 times, last edited on April 4, 2002 by 208.187.131.39. © 2000 NBTSC Webmasters |
Franny
