The Story of my Life, the Story of a Cutter

This is the story of a cutter. It is sad. It is depressing. And it is gruesome. Hope you enjoy it because this is the story of my life.1

My parents aren't divorced. My family isn't separated. I'm not some goth and I'm not some psycho. I don't cry in the middle of the class and I'm actually a pretty happy kid, on the outside. I'm just a normal kid. I love to play hockey. I'm in the highschool ROTC, but somehow. I'm just not happy.2

Some people would call me a perpetual self mutilator. Or you could just call it clinical depression. How did things get to be like this? I can't really say what started it. It's not something that just happens. It starts with a sequence, builds  to a climax and ends with death. I guess you could say it started with my parents. Mainly my mom. Grades, School, College, scholarships. Things just pile on. As I moved to high school things got worse. Pressure from my parents got heavier, then I got my friends. They cut, and I guess that's what started it. I remember the first time I drew that blade across my skin. It was a brand new razor, small and shiny. I remember why I did it too. It was because of Jacquie. I should probably tell you a little bit more about myself first. There are very few things I hate, however the one thing I absolutely can't stand is when I hurt people. That's exactly what I did to her. I remember goin home, acting like everything was ok. Then it was time to sleep.3

I remember being on the computer, just looking at it. The razor just sat there. I remember Kayla tellin me she got raped. It hurt so bad to know that. I guess  it was at that moment that I had decided to just let life go. It was then that I became empty.4

I don't really remember what went through my head when I did it. I remember the pain. It was strong. I guess I could describe it with lightning. Just such a burning, searing, tearing. I couldn't stop though. It wasn't very deep, just a scratch really. It bled a little. I remember the shock of seeing my own blood. It was...I wouldn't call it beautiful. That's what I thought it was at that time. I remember thinking "Oh my God, I've done it." That thought just kept running through my mind. I had never done anything like it before. I had actually stopped crying just from the wonder of it all. that was the one moment when I was truly calm.5

After I cleaned up the cut i just put on my wristband to go about living another day. I guess it was wrong, but it felt so good to feel something besides emptiness. I just went to school and didn't talk. It was nothing unusual because I had been pretty down since Jacquie. So life goes on.6

I started to cut whenever my parents got mad at me. Each time doing more and more cuts. Eventually I would cut just to feel. It was never deep. Just enough to see blood. Just enough to know I was still alive. Soon I found that I wasn't the only one. Cutting that is. I found that depression leads mainly to emptiness. Emptiness to the need of feeling. That need progresses to cutting.7