I've considered suicide way too many times for a thirteen-year-old. I've cut way too many times to be considered a normal healthy person.
It started small. After one of my parents and my bigger fights, I wanted to get back at them in some way. So, seven year old me, digging my nails into my arm until it left deep marks. Or another time, many years later, eleven-year-old me poking needles into my fingers. Not enough to draw blood, but deep enough to leave marks that were sore. I didn't even know that what I was doing was called self-harming.
As I got older, my parents and I grew apart more and more. We fought more frequently. My mum would accuse me of things I didn't do and I'd talk back. Because you know, I never learned. Or at least that's what they told me.
When I was eleven, my mum had an epileptic attack and was diagnosed with brain cancer. I remember being very worried for her. My mum got better, and about seven months after that she was working again. I remember myself wishing that she didn't come back because of all the hell she put me through. A couple of months later, right before my little brother's second birthday, she became depressed. She thought of taking her life and probably would have if my dad didn't hide her medications from her. She was diagnosed with clinical depression and placed in a psychiatric ward. I felt like a terrible person. There's just something in knowing that your mum lost her will to live partly because of you, that makes you feel worthless.
My mum was diagnosed depression free a month and a half. Four months after that she started working again. She also kept on thrashing on me again. The only difference was that dad, this time, joined in. They'd always tell me how useless I am. How worthless, mean, ugly, way too skinny, stupid and clumsy I was. I was and still is the least favorite of the four siblings.
I don't know exactly when, but earlier this year 2016, I started feeling down. With it came the feeling of my chest constricting. I'd feel panicked just by thinking about bad things in my life and get hard to breathe. I've never talked to any adults about this, and I've never been diagnosed with any mental disorders. About half a year ago I started cutting. It wasn't deep at first, I barely grazed the blade against my skin. This I continued for two-three weeks until I went deep enough to draw some blood, not much. I in some twisted way enjoyed the feeling of the blood. But at the same time, I was disgusted with myself and vowed never to do it again.
I felt bad because I felt like I had no reason to be sad. I had everything. There were people who had it worse than me.
It went well until the summer holidays, which meant that I'd have to spend weeks with my mum; Way too long for anything good to come out of it. We fought even more often and I started cutting again, after being more than two months clean. These times I went deep enough to draw more blood than before.
My dad once saw my scars and asked me what they were. I told him that I'd ran into a bush a while ago. He believed me. I cut more frequently and deeper. I once cut so deep that I must have hit a vein because the blood wouldn't stop gushing. And I was scared, but not for the reason that you'd think. I was scared that someone would walk in and see what I was doing and how far it had gone.
Recently, one of my best friends saw my cuts in gym class. She asked me if I cut myself. I said no. Later I admitted that I lied, and it felt so good to tell somebody about it. She was understanding and supportive and has helped me a lot. I still get disgusted by my scars, and I hide them under bracelets, my watch, long sleeves or a mix of both. I'm still trying to stop self-harming, and I'm one week clean now.
I actually don't think that I would ever have started actually cutting myself if it wasn't as glorified as it is. I remember reading about it on wattpad, in a story that made it seem like cutting takes away the pain. It doesn't.
Piece of advice to you that haven't started cutting yet, don't do it. One cut is one cut too many. There is nothing beautiful about it, and you will regret it. I know I do.
