Cutting and Self-Injury
Cutting and Self-Injury
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Blood
* "I cut today " - Cutting Log History and Background I've hurt myself in many ways, physically or otherwise. Cutting is just one I've tried. In the beginning (senior year in high school) I just wished I would get hurt. I couldn't do it to myself but I was dying inside. I hoped I would trip, or get up too fast off my bed and hit the top bunk with my head. I did hundreds of push-ups to make myself sore. I was absolutely miserable.
I cut myself for the first time in the fall of 1997, a few months after I graduated from high school. I was deep in pornography and masturbation (other ways to try to make the pain go away) and I felt like s___. My counselor was an old man. How the hell was I supposed to talk to him? I wanted help desperately but didn't know how to ask for it. I wasn't supposed to have problems and I couldn't see a source for all the anger and pain I felt. It was so frustrating. Cutting was the only way I knew how to cry for help. Asking for help directly was unacceptable. I was supposed to be self-sufficient, and anything less made me weak and unlovable. But I couldn't hold it in any longer and I was bleeding inside. By cutting I just moved the blood and the pain (and the rest of the crap in there) to the outside. I hated myself for it but I didn't know what else to do. I used my pocketknife in the beginning. I'm not sure where I got the idea to cut in the first place. No one I had ever known had cut themselves. Or at least I'd never heard about it. Of course I started with the classic cutting of the wrist, although I don't know why. It just seemed the most apparent spot. That didn't last very long. I felt dumb. "Anyone can do that," I thought. So I started carving words. I think the first word I ever carved was "s___." I carved all sorts of words after that, even a few faces. I don't remember when I started with a razor blade. It was a great discovery, though. Less pain, more blood. It was easier to cut then and I did it more often. My forearm was too obvious so I moved to my upper arm, then my legs, chest, stomach. There aren't many places left I haven't cut. I counted my scars once. I have close to 200. It adds up when you carve words. For example, a few years ago I carved ORC in my forearm, which stands for Outcast Rebel Child. The O and R each have four cuts, and the C has two. Ten cuts for three letters. Most of my scars are thin enough they faded but some are unavoidably obvious. I hate when people ask me about them, especially my nieces. I don't know what to tell them. Nobody understands; they just freak out. Screw them. There's something very real about the thrill of cutting. It's intoxicating. The initial pain is nothing compared to the reward of blood. The more, the better. I like to see how far it will run. I get a kick out of it when it drips down to the floor. It's awesome. MORE. The blood is relaxing, soothing, like a lullaby. It's exciting. It pumps me up like nothing else. Oh d___! But in order to get the same effect I have to cut myself worse every time. I have to see more and more blood and that scares me. I don't want to have to go to the ER and I don't want to bleed to death. I read psychology studies about people like me. It's so different when you're in the middle of it. I'm not like them (at least that's what I tell myself). To me, it's not a big deal. But everyone else freaks out. They don't want to see it. They don't understand it. It scares them because it seems so violent. "How could anyone ever do that to themselves?" they ask. I don't know. I just do. Why don't people freak out when I hurt myself in other ways, like not eating? I've lost 25 lb in the past year from not eating enough. I eat one real meal a day, sometimes less. I'm always weak and I shake after any physical effort. But it's not as obvious as cuts and burns and scars so people can ignore it more easily. D___ them. Screw the world. Who needs them? TOP Blood I don't know what it is about seeing my own blood. I like to see it run down my arm or leg or whatever I happened to cut. I like to smear it around. Sometimes I smear it all over my face. I get a kick out of that for some reason. Makes me feel like a punk-a__. It's a thrill, man. I love it. I've never cut my face. Too obvious. I'd love to see the blood run down my face, though. I like the way my blood tastes. TOP Cutting Log 8/19/02 2:50 AM I feel like s___. Wanna bleed. No tears. Hateful tears. Lock them away. silent pain silent scream silent tears I cut my legs yesterday. They were wussy scratches at first. I wrote "I HATE MY BODY " on my left leg then scratched my right leg. The last few cuts were deeper, but it wasn't enough. I got in one good one at the end. Holy s___, it split right open. The blood ran all the way down my leg. My blood's not as dark as I remember it being. Tastes the same, though. I want more blood. Want to see more blood. Need to spill more blood. My legs are going to be thrashed in the morning. (I guess technically it is morning - 3:30.) 8/19 cont. 1:20 PM I cut myself once on the shoulder but that's it. It didn't even bleed very much. I'm sick of this. I want blood but I don't want the pain and long healing time that comes with it. D___ it. I want to cut but I just keep thinking of my counselor. I need help. 8/20/02 I cut my shoulder a few more times yesterday afternoon. I wrote " HATE ME ," and made a few more cuts. The last one I made deep. Holy s___, the blood ran all the way down my arm and dripped down into the sink. I smeared it on my face. Makes me wanna kick some a__. I'm debating smearing blood on my face for my flag football games. Intimidation factor. 8/28/02 I smeared red ink on my shoulders. It looks so real. I smeared it over my pubis, too. I wish I could cut out my private parts. I used red marker to write on myself. I traced over my existing scars. I like the red. TOP |
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