Where there is life there is hope...where there is hope there is strength,...where there is strength...where there is strength there are always possibilituies so that, one day, you may lie your life to thefull .Be that butterfly and fly!

Where there is life there is hope…where there is hope there is strength,…where there is strength there are always possibilities that, one day, you may lie your life to the full …Be that butterfly and fly!



I was thirteen the first time I cut myself. My father had another stressful day working in his lab. He made crown and bridge work. He came upstairs, pissed off, and there I was. His emotional punching bag. I no longer remember what was said, but I remember finding a box of razor blades. And putting one in my pocket.

His words destroyed me. I already had low self-esteem and I really didn’t need the extra push. That one word “fat” conjured up so many negative views of myself. I was fat and ugly and didn’t think I deserved to live. Only, I couldn’t bring myself to actually commit suicide, though I did make several attempts.

I had no healthy way to express my anger and sorrow, so I began cutting. The first time I did it I barely scratched the surface. Just deep enough to cause me to bleed a little, but enough to ease some of my emotional trauma. I got better at it as time went by.

It became my ritual. I would come home from school and get my Walkman, then go for a “walk”. My parents were thrilled that I was getting some exercise on a regular basis.  I would walk the paths that ambled through our subdivision and find a spot that was kind of isolated. I’m right handed so I would roll up my left sleeve. I would get out my razor blade and start to cut. Yes, it hurt, but in a good way. I was self-punishing for all the things I wasn’t. I learn to put more pressure on the blade for better results.

Nobody knew what I did. I wore long sleeve shirts all the time. The one time my mother saw a couple of scratches on my arm I told her I caught it my arm on a thorn bush. She believed me. If she had had me roll my sleeve up she would have seen about fifteen cuts. She wouldn’t have known what to do. I knew that.

This became a ritual for me. Whenever I was in severe emotional pain, I cut. I cut a lot. I think about cutting every single day. It’s been a little over a year since I last cut. I cut then because my mother decided she wanted nothing more to do with me. I sliced up my left leg and left scars. I was hiding it from my husband, but he saw it. Although he understands why I do it, it makes him sad.

I wish I could say that I will stop, but I can’t. I have a whole litany of mental health diagnoses. I’m a mess and whenever I get too “messy” I return to what I know. I am forty seven. I have been a cutter for thirty four years. I know how hard it is for some people to understand why I would do this to myself. So, I’m including a link to help you understand:

Words hurt more than cutting does and the majority of people don’t cut for attention. So, be kind when you can.


Categories: Dealing with Depression, Dealing with the Blues, Guest Authors

3 replies

  1. Just reading this story makes me shiver but also took me back to several years ago when I discovered that my teenage daughter had began cutting herself. At the time, I could not understand why someone would do that to themselves. I put her into counseling and was advised that she needed psychiatric help. I resisted, I said that there was nothing wrong with my child, she was just depressed. After a while she refused to continue with counseling and started cutting again. Frustrated one day, I took up a razor and drew it along my wrist and I was amazed at the sensation – I felt shock at first and then after the shock wore off it felt like nothing mattered. I called her counselor and immediately got her into psychiatric treatment. She was put on medication for the depression and she continued with counseling. After a year on medication and about two years in counseling, she was deemed “better”. Eventually, she learned to deal with her emotions, felt better about herself (she is a beautiful girl) and started thinking positive. She is in college now, but I still keep that door to her counselor open so that if at anytime she feels like she needed help, she can get it. This was a very stressful situation for me as a parent, but I had to experience what she was feeling from cutting before I could understand why she was doing it. It is never too late and I hope you try to get some help!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I have never cut myself, but I have tried to destroy myself in so many other ways. All I can say to you is hang on, and, with the love of your husband, try to hang on to the positives that kie by your side. What positives are these, well try these for size

    You have strength,… otherwise you would not be able to write a post like this

    You have courage,… otherwise you could not understand and accept the position that you are in

    You are not alone…, as you have your loving huusnband and others who can appeciate what you are going through, and maybe help you in any way that you can

    You have risen aove the taunts of your father as yiou are alive, you are writing, and living your life as best you can

    I know this sounds corny, and if it came from someone who had never experianced secere mental,illness, you would say that they were talking a load of bollards, but take a couple of things from one who has broken down through kindness, and who has all too often experianced mind numbing despair.

    There is always a chance that life can throw in one or nice suprises

    You have not failed as you are continuing to fight your corner

    and finally, to repeaet what I said earlier..YOU ARE NOT ALONE..AND YOU NEVER NEED TO BE SO

    Please carry on writing, and please carry on posting, and above all else, dont throw in the towel and give in


  3. The last few lines really stood out to me. I was a cutter in high school and began again recently in college. It’s so hard to ask for help or open up to people and be shot down and told it’s for attention. Much love.


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