Scarlette's Story

Prologue

"You know what Scarlette? You're a fat, worthless little slut. You don't care about your family at all! It's always your friends or yourself, you don't deserve to live! Go kill yourself!" My mom and I had gotten into an argument earlier. Her words played over and over in my head as I laid in my bed, tears rolling down my cheeks. I had mastered the art of crying silently ages ago, so that my family wouldn't make fun of me for being a sissy because I cried so much.

I rolled over in my bed and sat up, checking the time on my phone.

10:30pm

I had wasted a whole hour of my life crying. Wow. I really was weak. How could I let them get to me like that? Why did I cry so much? I hated it. I hated me.

Standing up, I walked over to my mirror. Was I really fat? I mean like, I knew I wasn't the skinniest girl in the world, but I didn't think I was fat...
I stared at my reflection. I didn't have a thigh gap, but that didn't matter. Thigh gaps were stupid. You could faintly see my ribs, and my arms weren't too chubby either. Was this considered fat?

Tears welled up in my eyes again. NO. I wasn't going to break down for the second time in less than two hours. I wasn't going to allow it.

Stupid

Dumb

Worthless

You don't deserve to live

Just kill yourself already

I cringed. I knew those insults weren't true, so why did they bother me so much?

Because you're a pathetic freak. I mean like, look at you. You're not pretty like all the other girls. You're ugly. You're not smart, or talented. You're replaceable. Stupid. You don't deserve to live.

NONONO. I needed a distraction. But what could distract me from the monsters in my own head?

I raced over to my bed and grabbed my phone. I opened up the search engine and typed in "Ways to distract yourself when you're feeling down". Stupid, I know. But I couldn't think, my head was filled with self deprecating thoughts, and tears were once again flowing freely down my cheeks.

See? You're not even strong enough to deal with your own thoughts. Tsk tsk. You pathetic loser.

I frowned. Did I just call myself a pathetic loser? Where did that come from? I had never thought of myself as a loser before...

I scrolled through the results that had come up for my search. There were breathing exercises and YouTube videos. I clicked on an article that looked interesting. "Cutting to Escape from Emotional Pain? An introduction to Self Injury." I had heard of self harm before but had never tried it.

"That's cuz you're a wimp." The voice in my head said. I sighed.

"Why on Earth would someone purposely want to cut his or her self? As odd as this might seem to many of us, non-suicidal self-injury (NSSI) such as cutting, burning or intensely scratching oneself without suicidal intent, is a major problem that most people don't know much about." The article started. Why the heck would someone willingly cut themselves...? Honestly, that was messed up.

Intrigued, I kept on reading. "So why would someone ever want to purposely inflict pain or injury on his or her self? Studies conducted by Nock and Prinstein (2004, 2005) suggest that there are four primary reason for engaging in NSSI: 1) to reduce negative emotions, 2) to feel "something" besides numbness or emptiness, 3) to avoid certain social situations, and 4) to receive social support." Well at least that made more sense.

Why don't you try it to see if it really works? The voice in my head nagged. I ignored it, but the thought lurked in the back of my mind. I exited out of the tab and searched up "self harm". A bunch of search results popped up, but I went to images first. I instantly cringed away in disgust and horror. There were cuts everywhere. Oozing blood. Scabbed over. Healed cuts. All sorts of cuts. Why would somebody do that to themselves? I was horrified. Those poor, poor people. Who hurt them so bad that they would willingly do that to themselves? I quickly closed the tab and shut off my phone. My stomach lurched- I had never liked the sight of blood. It made me feel sick.

You should try it. It might help you. The voice in my head became sickly sweet. I'm here to help you, and I think this would help. It said. Maybe it was right.

I stood up and walked into my bathroom. I rummaged around for my razor. I found it lying next to the sink. Picking it up, I stared at it. I didn't have to do this.

Yes you do. You need to do this to cope with what you're feeling.

The voice was right. I needed to do this. Rolling up my sleeves, I placed the razor on my skin. My heart pounded in my chest. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

The faster you do it the faster you can get it over with. Come on, you can do it. The voice in my head urged, encouraging me.

I pressed the cold blade of the razor onto my skin. I hadn't taken it out of the plastic it was connected to (since I was using a shaving razor), so I knew it wouldn't cut too deep. It wouldn't be able to. Still, I was scared.

DO IT YOU IDIOT. YOU CAN'T EVER DO ANYTHING. THEY'RE RIGHT, YOU'RE A SISSY.

NO. NONONO. I wasn't a sissy. I could do this.

Without thinking about it, I quickly swiped the razor across my skin. I gasped in pain. It hurt. It hurt a lot. I didn't like it at all.

Well at least you tried it. The voice sounded pleased.

There wasn't much blood but it still made my stomach lurch. I quickly cleaned it up, and changed into a long sleeved shirt.

A few minutes later, I sat at my desk, staring at my wrist in shock.

I had just cut for the first time.