my story
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Ongoing<5 mins
Last published Wed, Jul 9, 2014
hi my name is sophie i am 11 and this is my story.
it all started when i did something really stupid in year six. i came homebthat night just wanting to die. so i grabbed the first shap thing that i could fine ( a razor) i slid it across my wrist thinkin that it would make every thing feel better it did. for about 2 hours. so i grabbed my razor again and this time i went across both of my thys ( four slashes per thy)
that night i cryed my self to sleep. i wanted to fall asleep and never wake up but i knew that that wasnt going to happen. so at 12:00 everyone was in bed and i grabbed my dressing gown tie and i wrapped it round my neck and stod on a chair. thats when my bog brother came in. he got me down and said to never do it again.
i had been called fat and ugly. i got my razor and lifed up my top and slit my stomache thinking that i would loose weight but i didnt. hospital here i come. i still self harm and nothimg is going to stop that untill i die.
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****ALL CREDIT TO THE PHOTOGRAPHER OF MY BOOK COVER**** The voices in my head tell me it's okay. They say I'm allowed to hurt myself. I'm allowed to create paintings on my skin with razor blades. These monsters in my head are my friends, not my enemies like people seem to think. I don't have a mental problem like my father seems to think. I'm not a freak like my brother thinks. And most importantly, I'm not dead. Why am I not dead? I deserve to die. I'm not worthy of the breath that fills my lungs. I should be dead. But I'm not. And there is only one reason why.
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