Well, like the title says, I started when I was 10 years old. I know, it was pretty young but when you need an escape from all the bullshit in your life, age doesn't play a really big role.
So, I remember because it was basically the day that ruined my life. I was sitting in my 4th grade class and I was bored out of my mind. We were learning about some art shit that some lady would come and teach my class, every Thursday. I was just zoning in and out of the lesson and I just looked at everyone and I realized that I was different. I was bigger than everyone. Like fatter and it just made me feel bad about it.
Eventually, all of the bullshit coming from the art teachers mouth came to a stop and she said we had a free day. Which meant we got to draw anything that we felt that day. Mine just so happened to be me learning I was different than everyone else. So that's what I drew. I drew the my entire class. Everyone was just a little stick figure person, some taller than others because those were the main differences and I labeled everyone. But then I drew myself. I was just one little circle for my head. A huge circle as a body. Two ovals as my legs and another two ovals as my arms. Then at the bottom of the drawing I put the date, my name and four words that I still say to myself every night.
"I Hate My Body"
In all honesty, I was very happy with the way my drawing had come out. Everyone was just the right size. I just happened to look like a fat-ass cow in the middle of my drawing.
My teacher came along and she saw my paper and all she did was grab it, fold it and put it into her desk. I thought nothing of it until the bell rang.
"I need to speak to you." She told me. All I did was smile because I thought that she would congratulate me on how much she loved my poster and how the sizes of the people made sense. But she did the exact opposite.
"I called your mother. We are having a meeting to discuss your drawing." She told me.
"Why?" I was truly confused over why she wanted to talk to my mom about my drawing.
"It isn't right for you to think you look like that... At all." She looked at me almost ashamed.
"But I do." I answered truthfully.
"Go home. We can discuss this later." She ordered.
I walked home and I didn't understand what was so bad about my drawing. It was a scaled drawing. I was just bigger than everyone because in all reality, I am bigger than them. I got home and my mom was waiting for me.
"Why?" She asked.
"What?" I answered.
"Someone has to call me to my work and tell me that my daughter is different than all of the other students. We both know you are fat. We both know it. I don't see why they have to remind me about it. I have a fat-ass as a daughter. Nothing new." She told me while walking into her room.
Everyone knew I was different? Wow, I've been missing out on a lot. What else? I was actually crushed. My mom just called me a fat-ass and said that we both knew it. She sounded almost... Ashamed. Ashamed at the fact that they called her to tell her about how the differences began to show and how I caught on. But not only ashamed. Mad. She was mad at the fact that they "reminded" her of she has a fat-ass daughter. Wow, that hurt.
I went to the bathroom and I cried. Cried. Not because I was different, but because of the fact that I hadn't seen it and my mom had to tell me in such a harsh way.
"We both know you are fat. We both know it."
I wiped my tears away and I saw something laying under the towel rack. A blade. It was shiny and looked almost mesmerizing. I carefully picked it up and just thought.
I could cut my veins.
I could just make one tiny little cut, no one will notice.
I could even put it on my thighs, no one sees those.
That's where it began. I put the blade to my skin and just pressed down and felt the pain.
Only this pain was, different.
It felt, good. Like with every drop of blood, my sadness was going away.
With every drop of blood my problems faded, only for a little while.
With every drop of blood...
After my first time, no one noticed. I went the rest of fourth grade just cutting and dealing with my normal school problems.
But also, after my first time, it became an addiction. I couldn't stop. I did it every night after my mom and brother had gone to sleep. My blade was hidden in my Junie B. Jones books. I would grab it every night and cut. My problems wouldn't bother me all night, and to me, that was a good thing.
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A/N: Soo, yeah. This is my real life story on how I became addicted to cutting.
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