Cut...It's the one word that makes me so different from most teenagers. I have scars all over my body. I sleep with a razor to find some sense I relief. My blood on the floor seems to be the only real thing about my life. Each new cut is a bloody tear I'm too weak to let roll down my face.
Every time someone asks me why I cut I want to ask them why they breathe not only as a smart response but because I believe it. If I don't cut I become more suicidal then I already am. So in my own twisted reality cutting keeps me from taking my own.....When people say the phase cutting him/herself I cringe. The thought of self harm scares me but the action which is cutting has does not scare me. I find pleasure watching my blood drip on the floor and feeling the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. For some reason it makes me feel like I have some type of control over my body.
The one thing I hate about cutting is fake people...people who want to fix the broken Emo child.
Okay one.
Not all cutters are "Emo" or "Goth".
And I am not.
Two yes I am broken but I don't need people who want to help me to make they feel better about their crappy lives. I don't need another person to tell me "stop cutting". “Oh thanks that helped a lot” (not). Or they tell me one day I'm going to cut too deep and I'm going to die.











Let me tell you something.























I've been cutting for 10 years now. I know my physical body better than any human on earth.
I've become an expert on slowly killing myself. I don't need your empty words and advice on how to take care of myself.
What some adults don't get is we go through just as much drama and pain as they do and most of the time more. There are always things that happen that we never tell them that bring us to our knees silently screaming for help. But we brought up on the lie our emotions aren’t "real".







Well can you tell that to my wrist my legs my stomach?






















I was ten when my dad said he thought I was cutting for attention. So I started cutting in other places. So it would be easier to hide. Now I do it wherever. It’s gotten to the point if you find out and judge me but don't take the time to hear my story. You are not worth my time.
I hate myself sometimes.
I spend my life cutting and covering up cutting. When the doctors ask me if I'm ok I like and tell them "I'm doing better" or "it's not as bad as it used to be."
That’s code for I cut everyday and wish I could cry but I've forgotten how.
I've spent years perfecting an act to make myself seem normal and happy. For a while it worked but my well worn habit began to fall apart.
I don't remember who I was before the cutting. Cutting helped me deal with present problems but it also helped me tame the memories that haunted my childhood. Sadly with each cutting session I was cutting myself away till I was only a echo I a girl I used to know. Maybe one day I will find the girl I was before the blades and rubbing alcohol. But for right now I will keep acting and smiling and hoping that I will find a way out of this grave I'm digging for myself…
Before it’s too late.