Why I did cutting and why I stopped

by Akalia Henriet
(Reno, Nevada)

When I was thirteen, my brother got married and in just a few short months his wife was pregnant. I was very close to my brother, when my parents would fight I'd feel comfort knowing he was close, in the house with me and that we were both going through the same thing.

When he got married and moved out of the house, everything between my parents seemed to intensify. I was alone to deal with them. Then my aunt was diagnosed with cancer and so was my grandma, both within a month. My mother went to Florida to try to help my aunt through this ordeal, leaving me at home with Dad. He worked from the time I got out of school until well passed my bed time however. My brother and sister-in-law would visit and cook me dinner and stuff, but they had a new life. I was alone.

I tried to kill myself with pills. I didn't know what else to do, no one seemed to care enough about me to stay with me or to take me with them. I was sick of being alone all the time. I was sick of having to deal with everything myself. I went to the hospital and I was shortly released. I skipped school the next day. My mother came home within the next week and shouted at me for a long time about it, but too soon it was forgotten and I went back to dealing with things alone.

When I started high school I carried that depression and loneliness with me. I was reckless and I behaved in a way I still regret to this day. I had a few boyfriends, recklessly older than me. And that summer I healed a little, became silently numb. I grew up enough to know that all people suffer and I was just taking mine early.

Sophomore year is when I started cutting, I slowly began to realize I'd surrounded myself with depressed teens and I wasn't much better, more hesitent perhaps, but just the same really. I asked them why they would do such a thing and I found many similarities between their stories and mine. So I tried it, I was clumsy, but it really did seem to help, so for the next few days I did it. I was terrible at hiding it, reckless at trying to keep it to myself. My mother caught me, once again she didn't sympathize, she didn't comfort, she only yelled and drank for that is her graceful way for dealing with things. She threatened to send me to the loony bin if I did it again, a threat I have since proven a bluff.

Junior year I started again for my ex that broke my heart was trying to get back together with me and was digging the sword deeper with each passing word. I stayed pretty consistent with the daily cuts and I hid it well this time. I cut my legs up pretty bad. That year I became really numb, I got my grades up and shunned my friends, became a robot for which it was natural to throw things at and to hate. No longer did I have support, no longer could I live with myself. I built a twenty foot wall around me. I stopped cutting when it became summer, because I wanted to wear a bathing suit, they still showed though.

Senior year I only did it sparingly over my existing scar tissue, which remains. I think it was the arrival of my best friend, my daily reminder, my life's treasure, my little sunshine, my dog; Ozzy, that began the healing process. He mended all the broken things in me, he gave me a laugh when I was down, he let me hold him as I nearly drowned in my tears and despair, each morning he'd be there, each night we were together. He's my everything.

Also, just so that you know, I never ever got professional therapy for the things that were going on in my life (because everytime I'd go to talk to someone my mother would tell me to lie, that I was happy and that nothing at all was going on) and God had no part in my healing process as I am an Athiest. I healed by myself, I was by myself and I will always in the end suffer alone. I have since graduated and I have already cut myself four times since, a decreased number, but I still have untreated depression and no money to see a therapist.