]1I'd love to help as much as I can. I'll answer these questions, and anything else you'd like to ask, feel free. 2
I don't cut anymore. But I still consider myself a cutter. Cutting is an addiction just like any other. Just like an alcoholic, I may not want a drink. But place a drink infront of me and it would be rather difficult for me not to drink it. Understand? I haven't cut in months. 3
I first cut with a pen. I just scratched and scratched at my wrist until I got through. I'd done it because I wanted my friend to stop cutting. I told her if she didn't stop, I wouldn't either. But by doing that, I opened the doorway to a deep and dark place that I can't even begin to describe. 4
My mother she gets calises on her feet. She has an object that you put razor blades in. One uses this object to remove calises. There were quite a few blades. I knew a few wouldn't be missed. 5
I'd always been curious about cutting. Longbefore I started. I was depressed a long time before I ever knew it. But I'd researched cutting. And knew what must be done. How to do it "right". I made cut about an inch long each down my right arm. Deeper every time. My aim wasn't to die. I'm not sure I even had an aim at first. 6
My friend had stopped cutting. Because of me. But she didn't know I'd continued with it until one day at her house. We were sitting on her bed talking when she suddenly wanted to go into the other room and get online. I said no. Of course I knew she'd playfully try to drag me. Maybe that's why I did it. So she grabbed my arm. The arm I'd cut multiple times. I cried out in mild pain. And she knew. She demanded to see my arm. I refused at first, but I gave in. I was hurting and truly wanted her to know. She didn't tell anyone. Just made me promise to stop. 7
A few weeks after that my diabetic doctor saw the scars I barely tried to hide. That's when everything really started. A man was brought in for me to speak with. He didnt' major in depression. Just diabetics with depression. And though I'd never thought about it before, when he asked me "Why do you cut?", I knew exactly why. Because I was feeling things I shouldn't feel. A deep fear and sadness, and pain. And i didn't know why. So I created a reason why.8
After that I was scheduled for an appointment with a Dr. Heather Harriss, my soon-to-be psychiatrist. But I never made it to that appointment. I got sick. And while at the hospital with a severe case of DKA, she hapened to be in the area, and stopped by to see me. 9
Together we discovered sexual abuse was the root of my depression and cutting. She'd asked if I'd ever been sexually abused, I managed to say yes, but only after we were alone. Medication followed.10
The medication made me worse. Which, I didn't know would happen, because no one told me, so I never reported this to anyone. I assumed it just hadn't started working.11
I tried to kill myself. And was placed in psychiatric care for week. And I'll honestly say I thought it had worked. Until, about a week after I started cutting again. I'd found a scalpel in my mother's room. She's a nurse, so I wasn't necessarily suprised. But the scalpel was far worse than the razors. I could literally pull the skin apart, wider than I could with a razor. This time is was on my right calf. What I was doing was scary. 12
I attempted suicide again. And was hospitalized for about 3-4 months. This time it made the most impact though. For almost 3 years since that hospitalization, I've only cut a few times, never really deep, and over trivial things. 13
Until a few months ago. I had a new memory about the sexual abuse. I was all alone. Staying at my mother's friend's house in Nashville, TN, while my mother was at work. 14
While my mother had cleared our home of razor blades, this house, she hadn't. In my defense, I didn't seek them out. Though, very depressed and scared with the new memory, I did not seek them out. I'd just taken a shower, stepped out, and there they were. Almost calling to me, if you will. 15
I cut my right calf again. Deep, deep wounds. I made them at around 7pm. And around 11pm, after I'd informed my mother, and she was helping me dress the wound, it was still bleeding. I was hospitalized for a week.16
I've been clean since then. I'm sorry this was so long. If you have any more questions, I'll happily answer. Also, if you want the dates, I can supply them.
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