My Cutting Story.

I remember the very first time I cut myself. It was in a graveyard. Happy, I know, but thats really where it happened. It wasn't very deep, and I made sure I had a clean sharp blade to do it, but I will never forget what it felt like.
I have tried smoking, drinking, and numerous other addictive hobbies, but I have never felt the instant satisfaction like I did when I cut myself. From the very first time, I knew that this was something that was going to stick, and it did.
It was a hot day in summer. I was on vacation at my best friends Aunts cottage with her. My best friend was in a very strict religion that required her to wear skirts all of the time, and do things a certain way. It seemed like a cult to me, but it didn't change how I felt about her, because she was very rebelious, and I think that might be half my attraction to her friendship right there. Going with her to the cottage was begining to be a summer tradition. He aunt is very wealthy and welcoming so i was always excited to go. I arrived on a monday after a long drive from my town to hers on the other side of the province with Lynn. We did our normal activities, swimming, 4 wheeling, and what not. I remember one particular time we went swimming I asked my friend Lynn why she was looking for shorts to go in the water. I figured it was just because she forgot to shave up there or something stupid like that. Now, I am bad with my memory, so I don't remember how it came up exactly but we ended up on the discussion of cutting. And I have heard about it before but thought it was terrifying and dangerous. I can't say that I was a happy enough child to have never thought about suicide unfortunetly but I have never tried cutting myself.
You always think that you know everything about your best friend. You know there feelings, and there problems and there thoughts. But I guess the whole “everybody has a dark side” thing is true. Even towards the people you think you know best. I should have noticed the scars on her. I should have asked her what they were and why she had blood stains on her skirts, but I never thought it was that bad for her. I knew she was depressed about being stuck in a religion because of her parents, but I never thought that it would make her that desperate that she would have to do it. I suppose I can't feel that bad though, her parents didn't notice either, but thats not even saying that much.
When your parents worry that your hanging with the wrong croud, there always concerned with the wrong ones. My “party” friends never influenced me to do anything that put my life at risk like Lynn did. To blame her completly though is unfair. She didn't cut me, she didn't force me too. I did it. Im not the type to put all the blame on somebody else. And it's not like ive never pressured her to do something bad either. I have, but we can get to that later. So, anyways. We got on the topic of cutting in the water. And she was apprehensive but I could tell she really wanted to say that she did and she did. I was shocked. I cried. I was scared, and I had a million questions. I asked her how she did it, when she did it, how often, but I never asked her why. She explained that she cut open her razor blade and took each blade and put them in a match box. She used one to cut her leg where her family would never see it. Not like she could wear short skirts anyways. She told me she had only just started and she told me that it felt amazing. I couldn't believe it. How could hurting yourself ever feel good? It made absolutely no sense to my 16 year old brain. Her aunt came out and called us in for supper, so the conversation was ended. So many questions ran through my mind though. I just couldn't grasp how it felt good. Thats how the idea was planted in my head. The curiosity. She never did explain to me why it felt amazing, but she had a half smile when she said it which stung in my head, still to this day. The next day, we went out 4 wheeling again, and we brought the 4 wheeler to the only store in the little town we were in. I picked up a few snacks that I wanted and some drinks for later on. I passed my the razor blades and stared at them. I tried to imagine what she was thinking when she did it. I tried to imagine how she took the blades out. I picked up the package and she walked by. We looked at each other for a moment and she came over. “how much money do you have?”
Looking back I can see that this is where I should have said none, but we put our money together and bought the pack of blades. At that point, I was curious, but not stupid. I bought some rubbing alcohol and bandaids, and we left. I didn't even have to say anything about it, Lynn drove the 4 wheeler back home and we made a pitstop on the way home. A graveyard. It's almost too cliche to talk about. Lynn had a pair of pliers in her purse. She used the pliers to cut the the plastic off the blades and she handed me one, and put one on her lap. I opened the rubbing alcohol up and poured it all over mine. She rolled her eyes at me and scoffed at me.
“How deep do you do it?” I asked.
“As deep as you can. I do it over and over in the same place till it swells up and bleeds.” She said as she showed me. It sent a chill up my spine, which was cazy considering how hot it was outside.
“I held the blade slightly higher on my leg then she did. More on my hip then my leg. On my right side. I pushed it into my hip and pulled it to the side. It itched and burned, but didn't really hurt. And it didn't bleed right away. Lynn told me just to wait. She was busy squeezing the blood out of her leg and pressing the blade in deeper. Finally after some seconds the blood surfaced and I understood. It made sense. The blood was a release. At the time, the blood was a realease of my curiosity, but also the start of a long road.
I will be the first to admit that, that small cut on my hip was barely noticable, but to say it was harmless is so far away from the truth. It was a gateway cut.