Just a Little Bit Deeper
Nine Years Old
The first time I ever cut was when I was nine. Nine years old and a cutter. I remember the day exactly. I had been reading the book Cut just a week or so before, so I had gotten the idea from that.
That day, at school, my friend and I got into a fight and I had gotten in trouble with a teacher. Then, when I came home, mom and my step dad weren't getting along, as usual. Most of the day was spent with me on the couch watching TV and listening to their smart remarks to each other. But once it started getting dark, my step dad started getting angry and yelling at mom. Slowly their fighting escalated and my siblings came running to me because they were scared.
I wanted to be a coward and lock myself in the bathroom like I usually did, but my siblings were crying in the corner between my room and their room. I told them to go in my room and turned up the TV so loud that mom and his screams sounded like whispers. When I left the room to get my sister something to drink, he as towering over mom. Screaming profanities and calling her names all over stupid ass money.
I was so sick of them fighting that I got into it. I started yelling at him to leave my mommy alone and to stop being so mean. He looked at me with a look of pure hatred, and started yelling at mom about how she didn't even know how to take care of a nine year old. Once he started calling me names and stuff, I got scared and ran to the bathroom.
Under the sink, there was always a knife. I'd put it there a while back when their fights had started getting bad. I had planned to hurt him if he ever hurt my mommy. When I locked the door to the bathroom, I turned on the shower so the pitter patter of the water falling would hopefully block out their yells. It did, a bit. Until the sound of things being thrown and moms screams becoming louder hit my ears.
I started crying and leaned against the bathroom door, like I usually did. But this time, instead of just sitting there and crying, I crawled over to the sink and opened the cabinet beneath it. Behind all the cleaners and hair supplies was that small, but sharp knife I'd put back there. I fished it out, thinking about the book Cut I had read before.
Leaning back against the bathroom door, I brought my knees by my chest and played with the knife in my hand. I lightly touched it to my wrist, but took it off. Then pressed it against my palm and slowly dragged it across. I hadn't pushed hard enough to bleed badly, just to barely break skin. A little amount of blood bubbled up, and I licked it away.
I then placed it on one side of my wrist and pressed harder than I had on my palm. I brought it across and watched as the blood started to form a bubble and spill over. I did it again. And again. The whole time I was crying. Partially from my parents, my friends, old memories of things that had happened... but not because of the sting. Hell, I welcomed the little twinge of pain that was on my wrist.
The shouts from my parents eventually quieted, my tears stopped falling and the blood stopped flowing so rapidly. I used some toilet paper to wipe off the little blood on the knife and floor and washed my wrist and palm in the sink. I chucked the knife back under the sink and washed my face. I had a bunch of little bracelets on the bathroom counter and started slipping them on.
After I looked somewhat decent, I unlocked the door and went to my room. The TV was off, my siblings were asleep and my mom was cuddled up next to them. I grabbed my extra blanket and a stuffed animal to lay on and went out to the living room couch to sleep.
That day, at school, my friend and I got into a fight and I had gotten in trouble with a teacher. Then, when I came home, mom and my step dad weren't getting along, as usual. Most of the day was spent with me on the couch watching TV and listening to their smart remarks to each other. But once it started getting dark, my step dad started getting angry and yelling at mom. Slowly their fighting escalated and my siblings came running to me because they were scared.
I wanted to be a coward and lock myself in the bathroom like I usually did, but my siblings were crying in the corner between my room and their room. I told them to go in my room and turned up the TV so loud that mom and his screams sounded like whispers. When I left the room to get my sister something to drink, he as towering over mom. Screaming profanities and calling her names all over stupid ass money.
I was so sick of them fighting that I got into it. I started yelling at him to leave my mommy alone and to stop being so mean. He looked at me with a look of pure hatred, and started yelling at mom about how she didn't even know how to take care of a nine year old. Once he started calling me names and stuff, I got scared and ran to the bathroom.
Under the sink, there was always a knife. I'd put it there a while back when their fights had started getting bad. I had planned to hurt him if he ever hurt my mommy. When I locked the door to the bathroom, I turned on the shower so the pitter patter of the water falling would hopefully block out their yells. It did, a bit. Until the sound of things being thrown and moms screams becoming louder hit my ears.
I started crying and leaned against the bathroom door, like I usually did. But this time, instead of just sitting there and crying, I crawled over to the sink and opened the cabinet beneath it. Behind all the cleaners and hair supplies was that small, but sharp knife I'd put back there. I fished it out, thinking about the book Cut I had read before.
Leaning back against the bathroom door, I brought my knees by my chest and played with the knife in my hand. I lightly touched it to my wrist, but took it off. Then pressed it against my palm and slowly dragged it across. I hadn't pushed hard enough to bleed badly, just to barely break skin. A little amount of blood bubbled up, and I licked it away.
I then placed it on one side of my wrist and pressed harder than I had on my palm. I brought it across and watched as the blood started to form a bubble and spill over. I did it again. And again. The whole time I was crying. Partially from my parents, my friends, old memories of things that had happened... but not because of the sting. Hell, I welcomed the little twinge of pain that was on my wrist.
The shouts from my parents eventually quieted, my tears stopped falling and the blood stopped flowing so rapidly. I used some toilet paper to wipe off the little blood on the knife and floor and washed my wrist and palm in the sink. I chucked the knife back under the sink and washed my face. I had a bunch of little bracelets on the bathroom counter and started slipping them on.
After I looked somewhat decent, I unlocked the door and went to my room. The TV was off, my siblings were asleep and my mom was cuddled up next to them. I grabbed my extra blanket and a stuffed animal to lay on and went out to the living room couch to sleep.