A fit of rage
I don’t even remember why I started to SI. It started in 7th grade, with a piece of sharp plastic, if you can believe it. It was a piece of a blue transparent binder that I had tore apart in a fit of rage. I was angry at everything; at everyone. I hated everything about myself and my life, and I didn’t know why. Everything was so unclear, so blurry to me. I don’t know what provoked me to do it, but for hours one night in October, I sat on the edge of my bed and scratched at my skin with this small piece of plastic until it was raw. For the first time I could sit still. My legs weren’t bouncing, my hands weren’t fumbling. I could close my eyes and see nothing but black for the first time in months, years maybe. I slept like a baby that night. The next day I woke up and saw the raw patch of yellow pussy skin I had to carelessly ripped up the night before. I was even more disgusted with myself than I had been before. It turned into an infinate cycle, I cut, I hate myself, I cut because I hate myself, I hate myself because I cut. I’m scared that it wont ever end, but I wont ever forget how it started.
Person [female, age 19, began to SI at age 13, college student]