[Meep]

This is sort of like a diary entry I guess. My situation, how it made me try cutting, and then the consquences afterwards.

Just came back from a 3day music classical festival. The day before that or something I had a very, very depressing moment. It was really strange. I felt so... I can't even explain it, fed up. I felt so depressed, and I felt that my Mum was just putting down all this stress on me and I felt so strange, like I wanted her to see me. But I know she's just as stressed out as me, different kind of results, but she takes her stress out on me in constantly yelling everything, nagging tone, always, which results in me pulling out my hair. Anyway, I got so depressed, that I grabbed this little decorative fork from Singapore, and it's kinda sharp. I get so frustrated, pouring my eyes out I'm just raking at the desk, draw, steel window-frame. I was so mad. And then I thought, hey, wander what its like to do it on skin you know. Like, if so many people who were depressed cut themselves, then they had to do it for a good reason. It's like almost a centimeter wide fork, just a tiny little thing.. And before you know it I was raking over the same spot over and over again, it didn't really hurt, and there wasn't any marks at first. ANd I was still really upset thinking, oh this really doesn't hurt. And I was excited a little, because I'd never drawn my own blood before, and I know that depressed people, they drew their own blood. So I thought, I'm really upset, frustrated, why not, just keep scratching until I draw blood, then I'll never try it again, like smoking I guess, but I'll never try smoking.
It's dinner time, and I have two very iconic short lines, they're red, just scratches, and I felt so strange, like I'd just accomplised something really great. It's the strangest feeling because you know in the back of your chest that you're just extremely silly, and that I was probably selfish and attention seeking, and I realised that I was seeking attention. I really wanted my mum to see what all her yelling, all her stress has done to me. And so wearing a long sieve jumper I had dinner. Strangest feeling. Before I thought, damn, my family is so much better than me, my sister is practically perfect, her only issue is that she's new and best friend deprived. Me, I have anxiety and like OCD. Now sitting at the table they all felt like strangers, I felt like was standing on some kind of building, below on the street is my family. I really want to get down and be with them, but to do that I had to fall, and I knew addmitting to them that I was so angry and frustrated would really hurt me, and them. They were all so normal, such a normal family, my brother probably doesn't even believe in anxiety or OCD, stress disorders.
Then there was the festival. I felt like I could breath there. No one yelling at me. Man, didn't pull a hair once. Not once. (I've pulled out handfuls of hair for every night upcoming to the festival). And I was so nervous. I mean, I was in an orchestra, and I had to play all these parts by myself on a loud instrument and everyone knew I wasn't very good. Butterflies felt like they were latching babbies in my stomach every secound. Even then I didn't pull a hair. And I completely ignored the two lines on my arm. And so did everyone else. Then on the last day as were going to the bus this guy asks; 'Did you cut yourself?' My answer; 'Pfft, no, I was carrying my rat cage downstairs. Lol, I'm not "emo".' I immediatley walk away feeling like I was going to throw up. The entire way back I felt horrible just like, omg, all these people probably think I'm depressed now. My entire life I'd hidden it so well, made everyone think I was blissfully innocent and bubbly. The more I look at the cut the more I realise how impossible it is for it to be anything other than self inflicted cuts. Now I feel like such an idiot, the only people in this country I feel I have a connection to were probably talking causally as usual about different music players, and being like, Hey, does anyone else think those cuts on ****'s arm look emo to you? So stupid! My god, what was I thinking? I should have put a bandaid over it!
So there. That was my first time ever cutting muself. Although it's only been four days, I have to say, I've never had a more comforting pain, so comforting, it's so weird and hard to explain. Until that boy asked me that question i thought, wow, this cut is really good, I feel so strangely satisfied with it. And I could see why they did it. I actually had a day-dream, where I was scratching more into my arm, and I had half a dozen just randomly. But now It's like this glowing symbol I wish just wasn't there. I wish I could go back in time and just not done it. Actually. I think I still would have done it, just to experience it. Just put a bandaid over it. I've never wanted attention, and now the only people I had a chance of making friends with in this country will look at me with wander whenever they see me. Probably try to figure me out. Which I would hate so much, I don't know what I would do if they started talking about my pulling problem, I think, if a boy came up and asked me if I pulled my hair out, I would move country again, or quit music for life. I don't know.

[Rohag]

Hello & Welcome, Meep!

Excellent post -- it wonderfully documents what you are experiencing. Please consider saving what you've written and possibly using it if you find a counsellor or doctor you trust.

I hope you can avoid further experience with cutting. The urges and the causes of the urges are powerful and deep, though. If I have read your post correctly, your family is not so supportive. Is there someone at your school (teacher, counsellor, nurse, etc.) whom you could approach?

[touchingsaturn]

i almost don't know what to say... but i don't want that to be the excuse i use for not responding...

i identified so much with so many portions of your post... what you were trying to accomplish, how it felt, why you did it... how you felt after... the shame/embarassment... and more beyond that...

once i started cutting, it was years before i stopped... i was, i guess kind of a part-time addict... only when i was depressed of course... the last time i cut myself, it was very little... not terribly deep, just enough to feel the pain and be distracted from what was going on in my head... and it was probably two years ago or more... and the time before that was about two years before that...

about a month ago, i was in a very overwhelmed place... i was literally full up & on the verge... of losing it... i distinctly remember all at once understanding why i had wanted to ever cut myself... or drink.. or take pills.. in the first place... and for a moment, i thought about wanting to cut myself ... i didn't actually want to, but i thought about wanting to... that scared me enough to realize that i was in a very bad place mentally & helped me "get on it" about figuring out what needed to be done to alleviate the pressures that drove me to those thoughts in the first place...

i agree with rohag that you should consider saving this post to discuss with your doc or therapist... or even just to have to look back on a month or two (or however long) from now when you're feeling frustrated & pent up like that again... not to sound creepy, but i "enjoyed" reading your post... well, not enjoyed, that's definitely the wrong word... but i'm glad i clicked on the link & read what you wrote...

i'm glad you shared... and i hope that it helped you to write it all out and take measure of the entire incident and all that surrounded it... i know it doesn't make it feel better, but i can assure you, i'm not the only one who read this thread and identified, viscerally, with some of the phrases and words you used... and what you described going through...

[BleedingDestruction]

I identify very much with your post and so I want to give you some advice.

Don't cut again.

I myself continued to cut after my first time- which was almost identical to yours. I took a pencil with a metal tip and scratched at my arm until it cut, thinking similar thoughts to yours. Now, there are over thirty cuts on each of my arms, fifty on my stomach, and seventy on each of my legs. I can't wear shorts because people will see the scars. I have to be careful to make sure my shirt doesn't ride up, and wear my jacket all the time. When I am sad, because I am so used to cutting, my only way to relieve my pain is by adding more scars. It's painful; both psychically and mentally.

If you need someone to talk to, I am here for you.

[Sannah]

Your mum needs to understand how she affects you.