Stuck Where I Am

I am sixteen. I'm a cutter. I've tried to stop, but it's so hard.
Before I started, I remember thinking "how can they do it? How can they stand to hurt themselves? Surely, their lives are better than that, there's got to be something good, in it." Well, now I know.

Releasing the blood is like releasing the pressure of the stress, and the pain, all of the things I can't handle. It's like leaking out something inside of you, to make more room for tolerance to all of the emotions I can't handle.

The first time I ever cut, in 2010, I was going through hell, and feeling like I was alone, and it seemed like a good idea. My only problem was using a paperclip. After that time, I swore it off, but, then, almost a full year later, I cut, again. With a paperclip, because I was afraid of how sharp a knife was, but I needed some form of release from the constant blame my mother was throwing at me, for things I had absolutely no control over. I put the blade down, again, but it didn't help.

I had suicidal thoughts, throughout my experience. I stopped, until October, of this year, only a few months since the time before, and things were too much to handle. The smallest little thing, such as finding out that a guy I DID like, who didn't really mean shit to me, had recently started dating another girl. The very same night I found out, I cut, again. And I cut every night, for a week, or so, before realizing, as I had, before, when I swore it off, and fought the cravings, that it wouldn't help me. I did pretty well, for a couple weeks, and didn't slip. Then, out of nowhere, I couldn't fight the craving, any more. Life sucked, I felt, again, that alone feeling. I was being blamed, for everything, again. I felt like I couldn't take any more. So, I cut. In my desperate attempts to get help, and I feel like I should say I was afraid to tell an adult, because of what they could say, or do (tell my parents, who still don't know, and never will, I hope...) I reached out, and told my friends that I had stopped. Then, one of them saw the freshest scars on my wrist, and I told her about how I was still struggling with it. After I asked her not to tell, she agreed. Every friend I told agreed not to tell. So, I asked a group of college students for advice, when they came in, to give a presentation on depression and suicide. I told them about my problem, and, I think it was them, told the teacher, who told my guidance office. I needed the help, but I was so scared that somebody would tell my parents. Luckily, nobody did. But, if I ever cut again, the guidance office is going to tell them.
In my attempts to find a new way of coping, I found that I had self harmed, before all of this, without realizing it. I had punched walls, until I bruised my knuckles. I had stopped eating, having lost the desire. I used to head bang.

Way back, in 2008, I was starting to feel depression, which I still have, but keep between me, and the most amazing person I've ever met, my boyfriend. If it wasn't for him, I don't know if I'd still be around, to tell my story.

He has given me reason to stop, reason to live, he has been there, for me, and made me feel less alone. I'm trying, but I can't stop, I'm stuck, and I can't move forward. I haven't cut in two weeks, but I'm nowhere near over the temptation. I might write some songs about my feelings, to see if they help. I know I've started one.

Now that I'm not letting myself use the blade, for a release, I can't close my eyes, without seeing a blade, being a razor, glass, a knife, a soda can tab, a paperclip, anything sharp I could find, basically, running over my skin, releasing the blood.

Help me, I'm stuck, and there's almost no escape...