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Other people have it harder than me, but I still have a little story of my own

I am 16 and I survived Self Harm


I'm not quite sure how it started anymore, but I think it started when my cat died of poisoning and I couldn't do anything for it. Just watch as she dragged her front paws through the area. I had always reassured her. She died that day. I still blame myself for her Death. I think it's my fault. Her body was cold when I stroked her for the very last time. A few weeks later, the school started again. I had to change school and had to repeat the 3rd class. The people were not very nice to me from the beginning. Some kept telling me that the whole place would hate me and everyone would think that I would have a mental disorder, but that wasn't true.

At some point during this time I started scratching my upper arm with a knife tip.
It was just scratches that didn't bleed.

I then told a friend who said I should never do it again. Another friend I told the whole thing by mistake because I was just totally done with the nerves said to me "Stop with the fucking shit" when I asked him with which damn shit, lose my mind? Or what? he say "with the cutting!"
"I'm just scratching, and the knife is blunt"~I
"Stop, I know what happens if you don't stop" ~he
"And what?" ~I
"It will no longer be just this one place, but your whole arm" ~he

I stopped scratching…
Just to start cutting…
I didn't tell him…
Just that I owe him something because he helped me to stop with the scratching …

But at the end I tried again and again to stop cutting, but whenever I tried I was irritated and got Common to other people…
Also to him… He's gone
Also to him… He left when I needed any human being…

He had gone like two other people too… Because I tried to follow her advice…
He is number three…
The third deep Cut on my wrist, but so far left that they couldn't hit a main part…
The scars are still there…
And he is the highest, the third…

I cut deeper and deeper, because of that …
I just managed to stop because I finally told my parents in the form of a letter that I was cutting myself.
They took the knife away from me and kept telling me that only stupid people do something like that…
I don't cut myself anymore, but often I scratch the skin on my upper arm with a circular tip…

To all the other people who have a harder time and who are worse off, I glaine at you, do not give up, you can do that, you can make it, keep strong 💔


If you enjoyed Ann’s story, send a bit of encouragement in the comments section below or share this story with others.

4 Comments

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  1. But I forgive number 3 and the other two, because it was and still is my fault.
    I just hope they can forgive me at some point…
    … But in the end they will never know this story
    They probably wouldn’t care anyway…

  2. Wow that’s amazing 😉 I’m still struggling with it and I am in therapy figuring out how to stop 😋it’s wonderful to hear people who have done it and survived the journey ♥️ Thank you Ann

    • Hey, I wish you good luck with your therapy and hope that you will be able to stop really. I wish you That you find the strength you need to fight this battle. 😉 you’re going to do it❣️ I believe in you 😉 you’re going to do it❣️ I believe in you ❤️

  3. Ann,I have worked with kids my entire adult life. First as a teacher in Ohio and now as a high school club adviser in Florida. When kids join the club, I give them a copy of the following poem by Walt Whitman. (my favorite by the way) and on the top of each copy , I write to each of my kids “If, from time to time, you ever wonder, “what’s the point of it all” just re read this poem from Uncle Walt, and you’ll know.”
    There is a point to all of it, Ann and you and the contribution you will make is that point. Let me know how you are doing will you?
    John Miller

    JGM
    Oh me! Oh life!
    Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring,
    Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish,
    Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
    Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d,
    Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,
    Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined,
    The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?
    Answer.
    That you are here—that life exists and identity,
    That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.
    Walt Whitman

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