I was sixteen when I first started cutting. I had been bullied in Primary school, secondary school and I was being bullied in college. The only difference was, in college, my bully was a tutor. and none of the other tutors believed a word of what I said. Every day, I tried to 'accidentally' miss the bus. But most of the time I caught it just fine. Well, except I always had a sickly feeling in my stomach during the journey there. She humiliated me in front of the class, made snide remarks about me needing to go to the gym and interrogated me if I made one mistake. I couldn't tell my dad because the last time I told him I was being bullied, he told me to stop being a baby and fight my own battles.

Then came the night my dad found out I was sent for counseling at college because my thumb biting habit had gotten out of hand. My dad and older brother both mocked and teased me something rotten. It ended with my brother saying. "If you like your own blood so much, why don't I get a knife?" So when they went to bed I unscrewed my pencil sharpener, sterilized the blade and turned it on myself. That was it. I was hooked.

But after a while I felt awful for being so secretive and that I was wrong. So, I told my dad I was self harming. His reaction was to blame one of my friends for being a bad influence and he told me I was being stupid. So I stopped telling him stuff because I couldn't handle his reaction.

After a while of college counseling I managed to quit. But then it all changed. I found it hard to get along with his girlfriend. And then they got engaged. When I left college, he sold his house while I was still living in it. And I was forced to give up one of my beloved pets that was born and raised in that home. And as I started boxing up my things I felt every last shred of hope just fad away. And out came the blade.

Ever since then I have been cutting again. I keep trying to quit, but I just can't seem to stop. I hate myself. I became a monster. I'm back in full time education, but I don't like waking up. I don't enjoy life. And things that should make me happy, don't anymore. But I really struggle to cope. And knives are tempting and I'm scared that I might become a danger to myself. So I told my engagement adviser, who got me to see a doctor, who's got me an appointment at this special place for a mental health assessment tomorrow.

My dad found out about me having to go to that place last Friday when I asked him where it was and he told me to stop making false problems up because I don't belong there and it'll end up costing me. Then he told me what I should be doing like getting a job. Well, I tried that so many times and went to another college because there aren't any jobs going that will employ a failure who couldn't pass maths. I failed that test four times. Tried my best and never got it. He told me I don't belong with the crazies.

Today he asked me what I said to have to go there. And I told him that I relapsed with my cutting and I need help to stop because I'm scared that I could do something I'll regret. He told me that people have it worse off than I do. He told me to stop being silly and if I keep doing it they'll lock me away in a hospital. In a room that's only got a bed in it and I'll be drugged to keep me from screaming and that I won't have my dog or a TV or a computer. I'd be in there and never come out. Then I'd be living the hard life. He tried to make me promise never to cut again and I told him that if I did, I'd feel stupidly guilty if I break the promise and want to punish myself. Then he told me he's only a call away, gave me a hug and told me to phone him to tell him how I get on at that place before leaving my flat.

I can't tell him though. I can't phone him in hysterics, sobbing when I have a mental breakdown or if I'm having a panic attack. And the things he's said, they're giving me urges. And I'm afraid I'll either cut tonight or tomorrow morning. Plus no parent wants to see or hear their child upset. Plus, my dad has a two faced personality. Sometimes he's nice and other times, he's horrible. Plus, I'm living with my brother, who shouts at me even though I fall apart when people shout. I just don't think my dad will ever fully understand me... Or maybe he just can't accept the truth. That his daughter is broken.