This may be triggering.

I am a cutter. Take a good look at that statement for this will be the last I admit to it, in writing or anything else for that matter. Don't try to talk to me about it. Don't try any of that intervention bullshit. Don't care. If I am ever possessed by the urge to talk about it, I will.

I am writing this because I realized that just letting people assume things is pretty fucking stupid. I know you know what I do. I've seen you look at my scars. I know I've slipped a couple times. So, instead of leaving open endless possibilities, reasons, explanations, assumptions, I am going to write it all down.

I have been doing this regularly for almost 11 years.

'Regularly' means that even before the age of 9, I would bruise myself or cut in elaborately staged 'accidents'. Yet, it is hard enough for me to comprehend why a 9 year old would do something like this, let alone a 6 year old.

I am not suicidal. I do not have a death wish that differs from that of any normal person under the age of 25. Hell, I'm not even depressed. So, don't ask why/if I want to die. I don't. And w/that said, I will probably die in some spectacular and highly publicized freak accident tonight. Cuz that's just my luck. Although, that would be funny in an ironic sort of way. But I digress.

I am not a major threat to myself. I can control this enough to know when to stop. I *never* cut near any major veins because then I would have to go to the doctor and my hatred of doctors rules above everything else in life. Oh, and I also don't want to die. Have I mentioned that already?

Yes, I want to quit. And yes, I am trying. One day at a time. I am doing so much better.

Now for the ever present, always fun question of WHY. There are things that have happened to me that may have (OK, probably did) cause this habit but fuck it, I don't want to talk about it. Ever. So I'll just be vague and talk about feelings a lot.

It's not because I want to die. I stopped that a long time ago. It's not because I'm trying to cut myself out of reality. Hell, all I want to feel is real. It's not because I like the pain. I bitch and moan over a stupid scratch from the chain link fence. It's not because I want to escape. Escape from what? The reality that I'm always questioning?

I do it to feel something. It's a relief, a rush almost, to feel the pain. I keep it all inside. Internalizing any and all emotions that may make me seem weak. I keep my mouth shut and my hands to myself. I could talk until my throat closed yet feel no relief until I'm alone and bleeding. My skin is not the enemy. Sure, I cut when I feel objectified, when the boys want more than I'm comfortable giving. But it's not cuz I hate myself. I can't feel anything. I can't feel anything cuz I won't let myself feel anything. When I am reminded of the object I fear I've become, I have to disprove it. Even if that means cutting my own skin.

And I have to mention how the internalizing causes me to feel overwhelmed...sometimes to the point of being physically ill. I wanted to cry or puke but could do neither, so I cut. It's fucking terrifying the amount of relief I felt. And the fact that it continued well into the next day. Has this really become that effective of a vice? If so, how the fuck am I supposed to quit? It would be like asking someone to give up crying.

It makes me feel better. That is all. It stops me from feeling like I'm going to explode. It stops that overwhelming feeling of desperation, life, reality (or lack thereof), confusion that surrounds me without warning. Cutting is its own language, verbalizing things I could never find the words to describe. It's a release. It makes me feel real.

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