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Growing up, I never thought it would come to this -hiding my arms from my own family, having nobody to turn to and feeling numb when not in crippling sadness. Now that I look back, I've realized that I never was a normal child. I have always cried or been upset easily. The slightest remark or action would set me off in tears or anger. My parents still blame themselves now that I am a solitary fourteen year old girl. I don't have the heart to tell them that I am extremely depressed, and I cut myself.

I began cutting last year. Last year is when the bad things happened. It's when I discovered how bad the world was. It's when I started doubting God. It's when my pastor -who is a father figure to me- left our church. It's when my friends began to desert me. It's when the only friend I had left was suicidal, but I judged and lost him too. Last year is also when I started cutting. I remember it starting as a way to get attention from people at school. Then, I stopped craving any attention from anyone. I cut because it made me feel better. It let me, for a few moments, escape the problem and focus. Later, it evolved into me cutting to express my internal pain externally. It's still that, but now I can't stop.

Before, I used to wait for my cuts to heal. Then, in the dead of night, I would cut. I loved it. I've always hated pain. I cry at the doctor's offices because they want to give me a blood test or an injection. Yet, somehow, I love to hurt myself. I've been cutting everyday for three weeks. What happened three weeks ago?

I decided to confide in the last friend I lost, the one I was closest to. I was afraid I wouldn't get the nerve to do it at school, so I did it on facebook. I sent three or four messages saying I needed to talk to him, and then, I finally just wrote it all in. The day after I sent the first message, I made exactly one hundred cuts on my arms and legs. The next day, I added five or six to that one hundred. And I cut myself everyday since then. Over the three weeks, I went deeper and deeper. I didn't even have to be upset to cut. I just had a yearning to do it. I would begin to tremble if I didn't. So I just did.

My friend responded, which was some comfort, but I think it's too late. I think I'm lost unless they make patches for your arms that erase the need to cut. I have a dinner Saturday, at which I'm serving food and need to wear short sleeves. I also have forty healing cuts on my arms and scars. I guess we'll see then how everyone reacts.