Confessions of a Former Cutter

The first time I cut myself deliberately, I was 14. My parents were downstairs fighting, and I was alone in my dark room. I didn't know how to cope. Some of my friends had talked about cutting. Hoping it would help me deal, I dragged the razor across my skin twice, carving a V. It stood for victim, because that's what I was: a victim of my mother's rage, of torment by my peers, of the world. I felt like my life was nothing.

I immediately felt release. The warm blood flowed gently down my arm, calming me. My frustration was relieved at the price of my arm's former beauty. The pain was immense this first time, but I enjoyed it. It numbed me to everything going on in my life, mind, and heart. The world around me melted away, and there were only me, the blade, and the blood. I was free from everything else, and it felt so good to feel something new.

The next day I wore long sleeves. My boyfriend caught my arm, and I winced. He pulled up my sleeve to discover the wound. My other friends saw, too. I was scolded by my upset friends; some of them were cutters, too. I was also shown sympathy, compassion, and understanding that I so desperately needed. Not only were the solitary moments of pain relieving, but the aftermath was comforting: support, love, help.

I soon got the help for which I was crying out. I told my father that I was depressed, and he didn't believe I could be. My friends told the guidance counselor that they were worried that I'd truly harm myself. I wouldn't have; it wasn't about dying. When she called my father, he believed her. He finally took it seriously. He enrolled me in counseling, and I saw a therapist once a week. I talked to her alone, so I could confide in her. I needed that, too.

I saw a psychiatrist once for a prescription. He asked me if I harmed myself. My father was in the room. I had to lie. I told them that I didn't cut. I also said I sometimes just poked myself with safety pins. I needed the man to know some fraction of the truth. My father was extremely alarmed, shocked, and upset about that so I knew I could say no more.