I first self-harmed when I was 7 years old. I remember it, it is one of my first memories. It wasn't because I was copying my father; a manic-depressive alcoholic who slashed himself to pieces on a regular basis (I came back from the cinema with my mum, sister and her school friend after seeing home alone to discover him on our living room floor topless holding a knife, having plunged it into his stomach X amount of times), it was because it was the only way I could stop myself from crying. My mum, a NHS nurse, had so much to deal with, I wanted to be strong, not rock the boat anymore. And this one afternoon when the police rang to say my sister, 4 years older, had been arrested for shoplifting, I was sitting in the front room with my Mum and Dad on my blanket playing with some teddies and Barbies. My Mum started crying. I hated seeing her upset and my Dad was upset too. I was going to cry. I didn't want to so I suddenly without even thinking about it picked up this needle from a cross stitch kit I had been given to make a blanket for my Barbies bed and scratched it over and over on my wrist. I was angry I was feeling like crying, and the pain helped. From that day, its the only way I knew how to deal with being upset. Or anything negative.
My self-harm is very personal. I don't show it, anywhere. My boyfriend will see it. It is 1:28am right now. I don't know why, I wasn't drunk, quite happy. Just got back from his sisters in Oxford. I just felt awful and I picked up my razor, ripped it apart and slashed at my chest. Right above the heart. Its split open very deep. It seemed apt to do it there. I will regret it tomorrow, as that is 1 year at least of not wearing low cut tops (not saying I like to display my cleavage; just im too fat for polo necks etc). I don't know why I have returned to self-harm. Before I started on heroin I was doing it everyday, and was getting more and more extreme. I think heroin saved me. Or maybe I just stopped self-harm with a razor or ciggarettes, or bleach, pills & vinegar (used to drink bottles of it) with a needle? Who knows.
I feel better after I self-harm, but not that better. I want to slash my face open. But I go as far as my neck, I have twin nieces, a nephew, family. I am sick and tired of it all, I really am. I can't be bothered. I am so stuck in a rut, and its not even mine. I don't want to do this anymore, and its not because I am distraught. This place just isnt for me. Never has been. I'm not sad about it, I've known it for a long time. I hate it. I know there is no afterlife, I have clinically died enough times to know. I just want to do what we do when we all die; switch off.
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