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At a certain age I began to feel strong emotions. Some were good! I would be like super happy. Some were very bad. I was be so depressed and sad I would throw myself on the floor and cry for hours. I mostly was stressed because I felt like I had to be perfect. I’ve always been a straight A student, and A relatively good athlete. I had a B once. My parents both started freaking out. Now for some context, my friend had been struggling with self-harm, but she has ADHD. I knew it was a thing, but never dreamed of trying it. One day I was so angry with myself. I decided I deserved to felt pain. It started on my wrists, but I decided it was too visible. It would last a few hours, and never bled. I then moved onto my legs to hide it. It would last a couple of days, and still never bled. No one knew. I thought about killing myself but was too scared. I tried to hang myself in the bathroom with a cord I found but it wasn’t strong enough. Maybe there’s always been something wrong with me, as a child I would slap myself when I did something wrong. Anytime I do anything bad I’ve been barely punished by my family, but inside I would think and think and it would rot inside. I forgot what provoked me the day I bled. That’s how dumb I was. I can’t even remember why it escalated. It started with one cut. I had cut just barely too deep. It was so beautiful though, the beads of blood forming at a red line. I had decided something was wrong with me. I would google it all night. I don’t know what was wrong with me. I stopped eating, not entirely. I just wasn’t hungry. I stopped sleeping, I wasn’t tired. I don’t remember much from then. Before I knew it every cut bled. I would let it run down my legs. At some point I stopped trying to hide it, I would just put my pants back on and hope someone would see it. I wanted help, but I’m supposed to be perfect. My family would hate me. My mom is a smart woman. She noticed the scissors that never left my room. Even when they were taken out, they returned shortly. She asked me if I was ok, I said yes. I didn’t know how to put it into words. It was an indescribable feeling. I felt pointless and sad and stupid. One day she asked to see my wrists and stuff. She didn’t see. I stopped after that. We had a talk about how to manage my emotions. I haven’t cut for about 6 months now. I hope I can continue to improve. My advice for anyone, please tell someone. I know how dumb that sounds, but I don’t even know. It’s hard to stop, it’s addicting. Sometimes I want to see the blood again. I want to see the cuts that are my punishment… I still have scars. They’ll never go away.
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