Rants

When people hear of cutting they think, "Oh well that person just feels sorry for themselves and that's stupid." Yeah, it is pretty stupid. But somehow I couldn’t stop. Don't ask me why, because I don't know. It's hard for me to deal with what’s going on in my life by talking to someone. So I cut. I have scars on my arms that I often cover up with makeup. My dad always wonders why I went through so much concealer, I put it on my arms. It hid the small pink straight slashes across my wrists. Only my close friends knew what I had done, but they didn't know that I was still doing it. Sometimes it didn't hurt, sometimes it did. Most of the time when I hear people saying you're "Emo" if you cut, it makes me mad. Don't stereotype a group of people. You don't have to be "Emo" to cut. You can be the head cheerleader, or football captain and self-injure. I used to get called "Emo girl" in middle school. But then again, I went ahead and made myself that image. I wore tons of black eyeliner and most of my wardrobe consisted of black clothing. I was often called "Goth" too. I thought since people were calling me Emo girl, might as well give the people what they wanted. So I became "Emo girl". I had short brown hair then, and I always had bangs covering up my left eye. I was moody and depressed a lot, and this was only in 7th grade. By 8th grade I tried to shed that image and try to be more happy and preppy and wear more pink. I didn't want to be known as Emo girl anymore, I wanted to be Sara. But I still had the cutting problem. It was a big part of me, and I couldn't let it go. I didn't want to let it go. My family didn't know about it, and I wanted to keep it that way. Part of it was also the attention. I didn't get any attention from my family or friends, so I thought if maybe I "accidentally" revealed the marks, I'd get that attention. The rest of the time it was to make my pain go away, if just for a little while.

It started when I was in 6th grade. I used to use a safety pin and cut the tops of my hands, and then at school I'd cover them up with the sleeves of my jackets. It got worse towards the end of 7th grade and the beginning of 8th. By then I was using scissors and razors I had torn apart from my shaver. My arms looked horrible, so I wore a jacket everyday and never let anyone see my arms except me. I had slashes all up and down my arms, perfect pink slashes. I hated myself for cutting, but I still did it anyway. It also hurt to hear my friends talking about people who cut and how stupid they were for doing it. Sometimes I thought they were telling me I was a wimp, and that I couldn't handle anything so I resulted to this. In a way I was wanting someone to tell me, "Please stop, you're not only hurting yourself but the people around you. I care." And I wanted them to hug me. I never got that wish, because when my dad first noticed something was wrong, it was too late. When my dad first noticed, it had been going on for a year. I had been taking any sharp object that I had and running it across my wrists and arms. We were in the car going to the store when he said, "Let me see your arms." At first I was caught off guard, and then I slowly asked, "Why?" He stopped the car and pulled over to the side of the road. "Show me your arms, Sara." He said my name in a tone that means he's serious. I pulled up the sleeves of my jacket and displayed the new red slash marks that stood out against my pale arms. He sighed and put his head in his hands. "You're grounded until those heal." And with that he started the car back up and off to the store we went. I was shocked. I thought he'd be mad, but he just grounded me. Was he ignoring the fact that his daughter was in pain? Did he know what was going on with me? How could my dad just ignore me like that! That added to my list of pain, and that night I added more cuts and the next morning covered them up once again with concealer.

I was expecting him to ask me what's wrong, what caused me to do this to myself, how could I do this to myself? And all I got was a grounding? I then decided that he didn't take me seriously, which was and probably still is the case. So he checked my arms every other day (when he remembered to) and when he saw that they weren't healed, he threatened to send me to a counselor. "Counselor? Really? Why not just sit me down and talk to me and at least act like you care!" I wanted to shout at him. But no, every time he found new marks, he grounded me until they healed. I thought that if I couldn't get his attention at home, maybe if I "accidentally" let one of my teachers see my arms, and the school contacted him he'd listen. Did it work? Nope. One of my teachers did happen to see one of my arms and did, in fact, sit me down and talk to me, which is what I wanted most of all. I just wanted so badly for someone to care about me and care what I did, and that teacher did care. After he talked to me, he sent me down to the counselor’s office and they talked to me too. I was in there for awhile, and then they called my dad. "Mr. McDonald, we have Sara in the office and she appears to have cuts on her arms." Appears? No, I have magical powers to make them appear and disappear, moron. I could hear my dad’s deep voice through the phone and then the counselor handed me the phone. I talked to my dad for a few minutes and then gave the phone back to the counselor. While she talked to my dad for a while again, I was sitting in the chair getting angrier by the minute. I thought my dad would pay attention if the school called him. Instead I was grounded until they healed. Again. I was so angry that when the counselor told me to go back to class, I slammed the door on my way out.

I had hoped my dad would listen, but he let me down. I felt alone once again, and that's the worse feeling in the world to me. I don't like not having anyone to talk to. Since my dad won't listen, I shut people out and when I do get asked what's wrong I simply respond "I'm tired." and they believe it. I guess from now on people won't believe me, but don't even bother trying to get what’s on my mind out of me because I'm not going to tell. The most important person in this world to me let me down and ignored me, and that was enough for me to ignore everyone else and shut those closest to me out. It hurt, but I felt like I had to do it. I knew there was someone who would listen to me but I didn't want to talk about it. I didn't care if anyone else cared, I just wanted one person to care and they didn't. Maybe my dad didn't know how to handle the situation, but they way he handled it was hurtful. I didn't care that I was grounded, I cared that my dad didn't do anything about my horrible habit that controls me every day. I still want my dad to listen to me, to ask me how I am or if I'm okay, but he doesn't. I had stopped cutting, and I was okay for a good 10 months, until I slipped up and made two deep cuts on my wrists. I've never made a severe cut, but there have been some pretty bad ones. I’ve stopped for good but the urge to take that razor and cut my skin is still there and won't go away. Believe me, I'm trying to deal with my pain in a healthier way, but the thing is I'm trying. Trying can only get you so far. I’ve stopped, but I literally cannot feel the pain. It's gonna take me awhile, but I'm finding a better way. I've told myself that it's unhealthy and I need to stop, but the urge is still present. I don't think it’ll ever go away. I had been cutting for 3 years and I don't think I'll be completely okay unless I push myself farther to stopping and forcing myself to talk to someone about it. I know I need to, and I'm trying.