It's my punishment that I give myself

by Mary
(Texas)

I'm in college now. I started cutting just a few months back.

My life has always been, in a way, perfect. I'm an accident, a teen pregnancy, or that's how I feel. I've never been a kid, always taken care of my mom and my siblings. Yet I've always gotten what I wanted or had whatever I needed. It wasn't until college came around when I became numb. I met a guy my family would have considered taboo, interracial relationships are not accepted in my family. It wasn't until I dumped him the second time around that I began cutting. I had no reason to dump him, but I felt it would be better for him and for me, but I was wrong.

I started cutting as punishment to myself, for hurting him, for pushing away someone that I probably truely loved. The third time came around when I pushed him away because of some stupid guy friend I had. Cutting was my relief. I told my guy friend and he pushed me away, scared, for no reason. Suddenly, cutting became something I depended on,a habit. Take a bath, cut, go eat, take another bath, cut, play piano, another bath, cut, drive around town, cut, read a book, cut. It became an instant thing.

A few days before our last time of dating, my guy and I talked. I tried convincing him to come back, that I was wrong. Yet, it went horribly. I ran to my room, slammed the door, locked the bathroom door and pulled out some scissors and just cut up and down my arm. I was emotionally distressed, and thats when my friends caught me. They took away anything I could cut myself with and hid them, which made me want to do it more. One of them yelled at my guy, and then grabbed our christian guy friend to get me to talk. They did everything to asking me why to bringing out everything and anything chocolate known to man.
Even though I knew they were helping me, I just wanted to crawl in a whole, but at the same time, I didn't care. I didn't care who saw, I felt like I was dying inside, I felt like I deserved punishment, and I still do feel that way.

I ended up telling my mom, and that I wanted help. She just yelled, telling me that if anyone saw them, that I would be thrown into a mental institute or locked away. The words I needed from her, they weren't in those words. It was that same weekend I told her that I was dating someone, someone that made our relationship interracial. After telling her, my arms were marked with more, the stress of knowing that I disappointed her.
Now, it is like this. My guys is gone because I was in pain and stressed over how my mom was acting toward our relationship. I go through the day sleeping, working, maybe eating, and feeling nothing. I do my best to not pick up anything sharp without anyone around. I stare at knives, wishing they could help me feel something, knowing they could. Shaving, consists of five minutes where its shaving and getting out. Scissors are stared at intensely.

I cut to feel something. I cut to save myself from the dark abyss that I'm drowning in. I feel as if I've given up. I feel as if I'm not strong enough to go through the days the way I am. I just stopped caring and walk through the days as a ghost or a zombie. I hide my scars, embarrassed of the reasons, and because I don't want pity.