Depression

I think I first picked up a blade during 5th grade. I was always picked on for being taller than the other kids and bad trouble making friends. Nobody really liked me, and for a short time I was okay with that.

Then it got worse, the name-calling and teasing got increasingly worse everyday. I remember walking home one day after school and thinking "why am I even here?" I also remember running into the bathroom and crying. I had looked around and seen the razor. I popped out the blades and pressed one to my wrist. At first it hurt like hell, but after a while I got used to it. I cuts were pretty shallow and practically harmless.

I had hidden them with jumpers and bracelets and nobody really suspected a thing. Then one day in gym class I took off my sweater when I had to run the mile. I had forgotten my bracelets, and everybody stared at my scars. My coach had sent me to the counselor and they diagnosed me as 'mildly depressed'.

I didn't understand what was so wrong about cutting, it made me feel better, my therapist just didn't understand.