Cutting: What Made You Do It the First Time? What'd You Use?

I started cutting back in January of 2012. I did it because I found a text from my dad's phone from another woman about 'seeing each other again sometime'. I thought he was cheating and it killed me that my parents would possibly get a divorce.

I knew how addicting it was. There are still times today where I want to cut. But I stopped in April. I stopped because my parents found out about it. It was the most humiliating thing I have ever done, and it makes me feel so guilty. My parents were heartbroken. Whenever I think about cutting, I think about them and how it killed me to see the looks on their faces when they found out.

Oh, the first time I cut, I used scissors that were in my room. It was much more painful though because it was so dull and was extremely difficult to actually cut through my skin.

I self harmed when I was a little kid (about 6-7) because I was suffering from PTSD, and scratching myself to the point of breaking skin was just how I coped. I stopped at about 8 because I was put in therapy, and didn't need it anymore. It was more of a compulsion than anything.

I started up again when I was 13, right after my grandfather died. The first time I did it, I scratched, and then decided that scratching didn't do it for me anymore. My preferred tool has since become scissors. Plenty of pain, minimal blood.

When I first ever cut I was 13, and I did it because I used to get very angry easily, and I think for some reason it was 'interesting' and 'fashionable' to cut -facepalm-. I used a razor. I still use a razor now.

Eh, my story is not something to be proud of.

I started when I was eleven for attention. That's it. I wanted people to notice the cuts on my arms, and I wanted them to comment and gape and isolate me, whispering in the corridor I was an 'emo'. Any attention was good attention for me. I wasn't even starved from it as home, I just wanted more attention. I used a ruler first, if I remember correctly, quite liked the burn. Besides, couldn't get anything better at the time.

Well, it certainty got people to notice me. I started being bullied about two months after and by the age of thirteen I had what I desired; a reputation and no friends. I was 'something', the people I wrote about on Booksie. An outcast, angry, lonely and bitter at my younger self. I carried on cutting because it was habit and it was something that tied me down. I was using a razor at this point.

At fifteen I hid my cutting, I hid it well. If someone asked I wouldn't lie, but no one does. You'd be amazed at how easily the girls in my PE class just accepted the scars on my stomach and legs, never got a single question. By this time my cutting was fueled by my developing ED; it was easier to not eat when I could feel the word 'fat' searing on my leg every time I walked. I also got into drinking at that age, did some drugs. Typical teenage stuff, except I would sit alone at parties just drinking. Occasionally a good Samaritan would come over but over all I was pretty dead set on loneliness. Hm, I was still with razors and occasionally would stick pins all over my body. One time my design teacher put her trust in me and left me alone in the design room; I awarded her trust by stealing a knife used for cutting cardboard, and that became my new instrument.

Can't say a lot has changed, since then. Still cutting, drinking and periodically starving myself. Not proud of who I am but I feel a little wiser by the year. It's good to know I can give younger people a hand because I know what they're going through, I know what it feels like.

Besides, if I had older friends when I was eleven I probably wouldn't have started cutting. Probably would have thought having older friends made me 'cool'; wouldn't have needed that extra attention cutting brought. I also just enjoying the the awe younger kids are in about me aha, it's great to be able to make some kid's day and ward off their bullies simply because I'm bigger than them (:

I used to do it with a ruler too. To make a chicken scratch as it's called. I started using knives and razors when things got too much for me. I cut right down the middle of my vein in my wrist. I also used to cut my thighs.

I don't cut anymore though. I've stopped ever since I met my fiancee I've felt different about cutting because she used to cut too and it made me really think about what I was doing to myself so we've both stopped now.

I was fifteen or sixteen when I started cutting. I know this might sound really selfish, but I was really depressed because my parents got pregnant and I thought they would love me anymore. So I took it out on myself. It was a pretty rough patch in my life and I'm still sort of coping with the events in that rough patch. It was just annoying and frustrating and I spent so much time being anxious and worried about hiding my scars that I completely isolated myself from everyone.

But I've been cut-free since January of this year. My longest record was two years cut-free. c:

I cut for 3 1/2 years. The first time I did it because I thought it would help the pain I was feeling. I also had a friend that did it, so it seemed okay. I would try to go the summer months without doing it, and then as soon as I could start wearing long sleeve shirts, I was back to my old habit. Honestly, I didn't think I could stop either. But then my mom found out, and I stopped. At first it was only because I knew I couldn't do it anymore without my mom knowing, but then it was just because I didn't think about it, or want to do it. You should talk to someone. It helps. A lot of the reason I was cutting was because I was so stressed out all of the time, but I think the stress was because hiding my cuts & scars was so hard... Anyways, if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here. <3
Oh, and I used to cut with a steak knife... Then I moved onto the blades in exacto knives. I still have the razor blades, but I've been cut free since June 12, 2012.

I started cutting when I was 10 because I was stressed. Well, I thought I was stressed. Now I'm definitely more stressed. I've got quite a few problems that swim through my head every day and keep me cutting. I've tried to stop and was able to for 5 months but last week I slipped up and cut a bunch more.

I started cutting when I was in 4th grade, I started because of the way life was at home, Alcoholic step-dad, mother who did nothing, so on... The first time was with a really sharp pencil, after the first time it became sort of an addiction. Anyone who posts here can see the attraction to depressed folks, the pain from it is exhilarating and makes you feel good. I used a variety of things to scar me, pencils, staples, exacto knives, razor blades, kitchen knives, nails, really anything sharp I could get a hold of would be cutting through me. I did it on my wrists for the longest time, I guess I thought that was where it was supposed to be done. I moved to my upper thighs after my mom started noticing and put me in the psych word. I've only stopped a few months back, I have urges so strong sometimes I have to constrain myself just to not pick up a razor and do it again. It's a hard thing to kick, like drugs or beer. With the right amount of self control you can though. If anyone needs a friend or just someone to listen to them I'm here, I understand your pain. You can trust me. Name's Nate by the way, I'm a 17 year female.

I started cutting when I was 12; and I haven't really stopped for real since. I go a while without it; like 8 months, but then something will happen to me and make me go back to it. I feel really lonley and isolated all the time; I suck at school and I feel stupid all the time; my dad is an asshole and I can't stop thinking about everyone who's wronged me because I see them all the fucking time. I hate my life; and I just want to die sometimes. My boyfriend is the only one who cares about me and it's a super long distance relationship ( it's been 5 months since I last saw him ) so I can't even be with him except for google chat every night; and that's IF my internet works. Sometimes we get into fights (they're all my fault because I'm more quick to give up than he is ) and they're really bad; even when we've stopped and we're back to saying I love you all the time; I still feel like shit for wanting to give up. So that makes me want to cut again. I can't risk people seeing them on my arms anymore so I do it on my legs and my stomach. I used to use a knife but now I use a boxcutter. It's more efficient I guess. I wish I had never started because now I can't stop...

I started when I was in 6th grade, so either 11 or 12 I believe. It wasn't really for any important reason at first; I heard about it and I figured I was depressed enough so I thought I'd give it a try. My best friend (at the time) was over because I was too scared to do it myself, but I found an orange box knife in a desk drawer and let my arm have it.

Things got serious when I was in 7th grade. My mom and I constantly got into fights, school wasn't going the way I had wanted it too, and I lost my best friend due to some stupid argument. I was just overwhelmed with what I thought was stress at the time, so I started to do it more frequently. By this time I was using a piece of glass from a broken window caused by a tornado.

Things went top level in 8th grade. I'd do it every time something bad happened, and that was pretty much every few days a week. I now had a knife in my room and I hid my cuts on my upper arm where nobody could see them because I was running out of excuses. I was 14 probably, almost 15 because on the day after my 15th birthday my parents found out what I was doing when I kinda revealed it in a not so subtle way. My mom and I had an argument and she threatened to send my dog (who was/is pretty much my baby) to a pound and it led to me making a Facebook post about how much I hated my life here. She told me, "You're only hurting yourself," after she saw it. I got so mad I took the knife, slit my arm, and ran into her room saying "I know." After that I quit for a couple of years.

Now I'm kinda back at it. Lately things have been getting really horrible. I don't use a knife, but I scratch a lot as my nails are long. I think I mainly do it because it's impulsive to get rid of the mental pain and actually feel something that's tangible.

i started cutting when i was 14 , my cousin had just resumed molesting me and i just want a way to feel pain on the outside and not the inside. Soon became a four year long battle/addiction.

It started for attention. That's right, I was 14 and cut for attention, a very sad way to go, really. My life was never easy growing up; the eldest of five kids, bullied at school, undiagnosed anxiety problems and people expecting the best out of someone who didn't know how to give it. What got me though? My parents were heavily involved in politics and that killed me. My parents were never home, my mother was always out helping other people and I was at home looking for help myself. I couldn't comprehend it and I didn't know how to ask for help. It was embarrassing, asking for help; I never knew how to do it without feeling weak, so I just didn't ask.

Unfortunately it became a habit and a way of life. My attention seeking ways opened up a whole new world and I hid those scars, thriving on my own fucked up world that I hid under my sleeves. It was powerful, you know? Knowing I could do these things to myself and knowing what I was capable. I was angry, a very angry person and what's worse is that I was resentful and I still am.

I was twelve the first time I did it. I don't really remember why. I just did it. I was sad and confused and then it just went on from there. My parents found out before I was thirteen and I stopped after that.

But now, sixteen, I'm cutting again. I've been uprooted from my childhood home and my friends and my parents bigots and aren't accepting of who I am and my depression is just getting worse and worse, so I've fallen to the temptation of the razor again. The first time I cut again it was on my wrist, but now I've moved up to my biceps to more easily hide the marks. This time around, I've told a few people about it but show no real signs of stopping or wanting to stop. My therapist knows, too. And what makes it worse is that most people assume cutting to be a "girls' problem", which only makes the fact that I cut worse for me. Yeah, I know other guys who have or do self harm but it still just makes me feel pathetic and less of a man to be doing it.

I'm just... in a bad place right now.

I've had depression since I was 7 years old, my older sister was diagnosed with Leukemia and so my mom was always in hospital with her and my father used to abuse my oldest sister and literally act like I didn't exist. At the same time I was bullied and didn't have any friends because my sister was "sick" and so it started with negative thoughts like "I wish I had cancer too so that my mommy would spend more time with me" and every time my mom would leave to go to the hospital with my sister I would scream until I could taste blood or I would bang my wrists against my bed. As I got older I only got more isolated because everyone at school remembered that they isolated me but they couldn't remember why and my oldest sister attempted suicide and after she survived she moved out and my father turned his abuse to me. I was about 10 at this point, my mom had had another child and was pregnant again and this is when I remembered seeing massive scars and horrendously cuts on my oldest sister's arms I didn't realise what they were and what they stood for but I always wondered if she had done them herself so I stole a (blunt) swiss army knife off a boy from school and started cutting myself (only little scratches) just to see what it was like and I was already bullied for being "emo" so I thought it was ok and I liked it. I also used to scratch myself hard till I bled. When I was about 12 I started to use a razor, that you'd shave your legs with, and I'd drag it across my arms maybe thirteen times a night it used to sting and bleed in little bubbles and it wouldn't really scar just leave discolouration so I liked it. But my dad's abuse started to massively escalate and when I was 13 my friend raped me so it got worse and I started using a kitchen knife. One time when I was 15 I broke up with a boy I had been dating for a month and he attempted suicide over it and I got so depressed I ran away from home and stabbed myself repeatedly with broken glass I found on the side of the highway and beat myself bloody with a rock I found in a park, I burst several veins and bled a lot and I remember there was less pain and more blood but still enough pain that it felt like a release and I liked that more so I tried to keep the glass but a friend of mine confiscated it from me so I bought my own kitchen knife and knife sharpener and started using that on my arm and stomach. I still used to scratch myself, snap myself with a rubber band and purposefully burn myself with my hair straightener so I would blister. I also started to clip my finger tips off with a nail clipper but that was too noticable and the skin would be red, shiney and lumpy and people would point it out and say "oh that's fucking gross" so I don't really do that too much anymore. I haven't self harmed in four months but honestly it's only because my health is in the fucking shitter so I keep having to get bloods taken and check ups so they'll notice and ask questions and try and get me help if they see I've been cutting so I've refrained till I get better. Which super sucks cause in the past year I've been sick I've been raped by two different people on two different, dumped, assaulted and lost half of my friends simply by being depressed because I've been raped, dumped and assaulted. I'm on anti depressants but they don't help and I've never told anyone but my best friend that I self harm and she thinks I haven't self harmed since I was 15 so... Yeah :) I also drink a lot and smoke and I dapple in drugs from time to time which I suppose some people count as self harm... I've never thought of using self harm as a way to attempt suicide before because I like it too much to kill myself that way and think it would be too obvious a choice... If I were to kill myself I think I'd probably poison myself (which is actually really hard to succeed in doing and despite what you might think is NOT painless and peaceful you don't just fall asleep you're in huge amounts of fucking pain in your stomach and you start puking and shit) or jump in front of a bus or get super baked before I go swim in a lake until I get too tired and drown... I dunno I think it would sully self harm if I were to use it to kill myself. I have scars wrapping the full way around my left arm from cutting but I don't cut my right arm cause I'm too weak for my left hand to be any good at cutting (my right hand is my dominant hand).

Also as an after note I do NOT condone self harm in others. I had a group of girls at school (all of which have left the school now) ENCOURAGE me to self harm and give me tips how to hide it, how to do it, what to do it with like they WANTED me to! It was like a group thing! It was so bad for me to be around. I do not condone self harm. I am in a place where I enjoy it but it is a BAD thing to do to yourself and it is a BAD way to cope and no matter what you think someone out there loves you more than you think and it will kill them to know you are self harming or thinking of suicide. I myself am not in the best place, but that is my life and my problem and I need to deal with it when I deal with it. You should always seek help. You ALWAYS deserve better no matter what you think of it. You are definitely worth it.

I cut myself for the first time on my thighs because I was punishing myself for eating after about 5 days of consuming nothing but water and mints.

The first time I cut was the end of last year. It was because my best friend had told me a whole load of made up stuff and I believed it and I got into a lot of trouble for it at school. It involved the principal and my parents, and it really stressed me out and upset me. Then my best friend told me that she was upset about lying to me and she told me she cut herself, so that night I cried over everything, and I heard from stories that cutting made you feel better so that's why I did it the first time. I used scissors at first, and I only slightly grazed my lower arm because I was scared. The second time I did was around a month later, mainly because every little problem I had experienced over the past few years was piling up inside me, and I never tell anyone, not even my closest friends. Stuff like arguments with my parents, school work and tests, and basically self hating. The second time I cut, I used scissors again. But this time I brought it against my skin hard enough to make it come off and bleed, and I decided, oh that cut looks nice on my arm. So I did another cut, and another. I know, I'm stupid, right? At that time I was angry with a friend so I hinted to them that I cut just to make them feel guilty. She worked it out and asked me to show her my arm, but I refused and walked away. The third time I cut, I did seventeen small ones in a line along my right arm, and even though I always wore long sleeves, The sleeve came up a bit and showed a red mark, so my dad noticed. He was mad and shouted at me, which made me sad and feel lonely so I cut again. A week later, my mum noticed the cuts on my arm while I was getting changed, and she asked what it was, obviously I lied to her. I didn't want her to know the that I was cutting. She shouted at me too, which made me feel like my parents didn't care that I hurt myself, so I kept cutting. Now, I cut every time my emotions become too much for me to handle. Seeing the open wounds on my arms somehow calms me. I know it's bad, but now I've started, I don't want to stop.
All I can say to you is, cutting is BAD. It only hurts you, once you start you'll make a habit of it and you might end up doing it for a long time. It's painful, and only makes things worse. I know this is very ironic since I cut, but please don't ever hut yourselves, everyone out there who's thinking of cutting, please don't. Your life is important, just remember that. : )

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It was a few months ago. I lost my job, my home, my fiance, and plunged into debt. I knew it wouldn't help. I just wanted to take out my anger and heartache physically and aggressively, and I felt like I of all people deserved it the most.

I started cutting in 8th grade. I was probably 13. I started, originally, because i thought i couldn't be a mcr fan if i didn't. That sounds like the stupidest thing in the world, since it goes against everything that they are, but i thought since the other fans didn't that i wouldn't fit in if I didn't cut or if I wasn't depressed. That's how it started, at least. I started using a knife. It wasn't sharp at all, so I had to practically saw at my arm. I would use ice to numb it, then cut, so I could go deeper without necessarily feeling it. It was stupid. I used a knife for a while, then I started using a pair of scissors. They were sharper. They actually made me bleed, and I loved it. No one found out until I was admitted to the hospital for depression a month before i turned 16. For two years, nobody noticed how destructive I was. But that wasn't the worst of it. They found out when I was in the hospital, I continued while I was there, using anything I could find. Everyone did. We would rollt he foil off our juice cups to a point. We would use nails that we found. Anything. It was awful. It was stupid. I pretty much stopped once getting out of the hospital. I was finally on a medication that seemed to work. A few months after that I got my first boyfriend. He made me upset one day and I cut. I was in the shower and I would use my razor, pretend to slip while shaving so I could get a nice long line. Those always stung. I did it on my legs. I told him that I blamed him. I found out later that he had cut because of what I told him. He had never cut before, and he cut because of what I said. It was the worst feeling in the world. We both decided to stop. We didn't want to see each other do that, so we stopped. Fast forward to when I broke up with him for the dumbest reason ever, he cut a ton. He cut a lot and it killed me. A lot of shit went on with us trying to get back together, I loved him so much. Eventually it didn't work out. He started dating another girl. I found the razors out of pencil sharpeners, got them out with screw drivers, and I would cut. My left arm has so many scars that haven't faded. I ran out of space, and I would cut my ankles. Then, one week, I cut my thighs. I cut my thighs so deep, I have over 20 scars. I cut for the last time on Valentine's day. I was so upset. I sliced my thighs open for the last time. I haven't done it since. My mom saw a few smaller scars in May. They freaked out and told my therapist, but nothing was done. I have awful scars on my thighs, I'm afraid I will never be able to wear a bathing suit because of them. They are so big and prominent and dark, seven months later. I consider myself recovered from cutting. I don't want to do it anymore. Not really. I am still depressed. I still get the urge to cut sometimes, it's a hard habit to break and I did it cold turkey. But I'm afraid the scars will never go away, and I'll always see myself as a worthless cutter.

:/