Intro
Mood:  sad
I have a confession to make… I self-mutilate. I take an X-acto knife and slice open my arm and leg about once every day. Some times I will wait a few days in between to help the old cuts to heal up. Right now I have the nice sensation of a fresh cut bleeding out cold blood. If you cut then you should understand that feeling. You cut then the blood wells up to the surface and sits there for a bit before trickling down your arm, but its always cold by that time… or maybe its just my air conditioner. Let me introduce myself, I am a 23 year old high school graduate from Florida. Let me tell you something, being a cutter in Florida is hard, you try wearing long sleeved shirts in what feels like 100+ temps. I didn’t start cutting until a year ago but I realized that I was doing other things in its place that were just as bad. I started smoking at 18, strong cigs, cloves, because the smoke burns when you inhale. Before that I was pinching my arms when I was nervous or stressed and had been since about 7 give or take a few years. While in high school I would take any pills my friends would give me, with no concern as to what they were or did, just to take them. I realize now that I’ve been self mutilating for a long time it just didn’t make me bleed like now.

Now you may be asking why. Most people try to say that its due to abuse as a child, be it physical or sexual but I didn’t have any of these problems. I think the most damaging thing that happened to me as a child was what some people refer to as ‘middle-child syndrome’. I was the middle child between an older adopted ‘troubled’ sister and a younger ‘slightly slow’ brother. I was often ignored or overlooked by most of my family members with the exception of my mother. All in all however my child hood wasn’t terribly bad, I cant say that I ever truly felt unloved or unwanted, just ignored from time to time. My sister was always in trouble, pregnant by the time she was 16 and my brother was born while my mother was on birth control resulting in him having a learning disability, which made him get a lot of attention to. I did many things as a child to try and make up for this, including joining band, doing great in school (almost always straight a’s) and so on but it never quiet matched up. When my mother introduces her children I’m always referred to as ‘the good one’.

My parents frequently fought, mostly over money that they didn’t have and this usually lead to us kids taking sides with one or the other, usually siding with our mother. My mother is a very kind woman however she isn’t the brightest crayon in the box if you get my meaning. Emotionally she is very weak and cries at the slightest harsh word spoken by anyone against her. I think it was this that actually led to the self-mutilating. For as long as I can remember I would tell myself that I would not end up like that. I used to get in between her and my father when they would fight because I couldn’t stand the sight of her tears. To this day I still don’t cry, at least not where any one can see.

The reasons for the self-mutilation have changed over time but the basis remains the same, it’s a protection method, at least for me. I would never presume to generalize this disorder. Before, when I was younger, it protected me from feeling to much when my parents fought or when I was ignored, I would pinch myself until I had marks but in the end it would go away and be over until later. Now I do it to protect myself from myself. Most people say that cutting isn’t suicide, or isn’t associated. That is correct in my case as well however I can say that I have thought about it, and thought about it for a while. Most people say you don’t have to worry until you have a plan, well, I have a plan so I guess its time to start worrying. The only thing that had kept me from doing it thus far is my mother. All I have to do is think about what it would do to her and then I stop. But then I have the cutting to fall back on.

I cut for the blood. I like to see the blood flow and drip. I collect it on my blade and then turn it to the light and look at it. I also have done a painting in it… at least its getting some use. I also do it to show everything that is inside out. One of my favorite things to do is write on my self with the blade. Right now I have ‘Fuc* It’ carved into my arm, that was after a particularly brutal day of self searching. When my cat died I blamed myself for not saving him and had ‘Forgive me’ carved in my arm for over a month. I’ve also done ‘useless’, ‘just skin’ and ‘drown down here’. It’s a way for anyone who sees my arm to get a glimpse of what is going on inside because I don’t show emotions, at least not what I’m feeling. I generally appear happy, slightly manically so sometimes, and joking and anything but serious but lately that’s been slipping. I’ve been snapping lately. Not a good sign.

I can count the number of ‘friends’ I can call on one finger, everyone else is gone. Hell, even this one is gone. She moved about six months ago to Kansas and got a boyfriend. She used to call about 3 times a week now I haven’t heard from her in a month and when I call I cant get her. I get her sister who thinks I’m so kind of antichrist of relationships and thinks I will break her sister and her new boyfriend up. The same day her sister said that to me my sisters boyfriend called and told me I couldn’t come over any more because my sister had been telling him that I was saying shit about him trying to break them up. So not true, in fact I never said anything of the sort. That was a very bad day, lots of blood flowed. The point is that all of my friends are gone and I don’t trust anyone anymore. Hell, most of the friends I had before were so self centered and absorbed that they only called to brag or to ask for something. Who needs them.

The cutting started on day when I had found an old knife I thought I had lost, I decided to see how sharp it was but no matter how hard I pressed it wouldn’t cut skin, I was kinda upset about that. I wanted to see myself bleed. I have always had a poor vision of myself and what people tell me doesn’t help. I often feel ugly and fat and no one has every discouraged this view. I can’t ever remember been told I was pretty or beautiful. I remember far back as a child my sister for the longest time making fun of me because I was bigger than her. She used to tell me I was fat and so on and next to her I suppose I was. Lately people have been less cruel about their comments, no one saying fat or anything but other things that as an adult bite more.

Recently I lost a very good job that was killing me. I was working for an internet hosting company, feature price, for anyone concerned but it was hell on earth while I was there. The company was finally sold when it hit bit time financial problems but until that time I worked like a slave for them. I was paid pretty well and that is the only excuse I have for staying so long. I developed un ulcer working there if that tells you anything of the stress. One of the things that I liked though was that no one there questioned me about my job, most of the time. I was smart and they knew it, I was in fact one of the best people there, and that is another reason I stayed. I was important and needed. That’s not something I feel very often. When the company went under I discovered while job searching I had developed a new problem. Anxiety Attacks. I would get hired on to a new job and after a few days would quite. Why? Honestly I cant say. I would understand in my mind that it was all in my head but I couldn’t make myself listen. When I would start a new job, didn’t matter what it was, I would freak out. I would become so paranoid about what everyone was thinking about me I would literally leave at lunch time and not be able to come back. I would think they were looking down on me for being 22 or 23 and having to start at grunt level work. How stupid I must look, how fat I must look, how ugly, and so on. Cutting helps with it but at the same time it makes it worse.

Now I have people who say things like, oh you haven’t had a job in how many months now? You need to get a job, what’s wrong with you, the fast food place is hiring, and so on. As though I didn’t have a bad enough view of my self. It makes me want to just go up to these people and smack them. Problem is that they are my family. They are about as dense as lead. I have had all of the classic symptoms of anxiety disorder, depression and now cutting and still nothing from them. They are so clueless. I’m tempted at our next family dinner to just roll up my sleeves and say ‘what do you think of that?’ Might ruin their perfect little view of life then wouldn’t it. But no, that when they would say you don’t need help you need God. Did I mention the fact that they are all mostly right wing bible thumping zealots? Ok, so most of them aren’t but my grandfather is… and he runs the family, kinda reminds me of the mob.

So here I am, bright, intelligent, well read individual with issues. So I need help? Yes. Will I get it? Probably not, it’s to expensive. Do I want help? Ah, well there’s the question isn’t it. Ask me right now and I will say yes. That is why I am writing this, it does help. Ask me tomorrow and I may say no. all I know is that I’m dying. Dying a bit everyday, every minute, every word. What does it feel like? Funny, it doesn’t feel like anything… nothing at all.