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  LiveWire / My Forums / Viewing Story

Cutting & Me
The following story was submitted anonymously on Jan. 26, 2006.
The names have been changed to protect the author's privacy.

Well to start off, my real father left when I was three monthes old. & Until one of my moms boyfriends' locked us in his car, I didn't realize I didn't have a real dad.

I didn't really think it was bad or good, it just was. So.. my mom met my now ex-step-dad when I was seven. They got married the following summer. When I was handed an adoption form for my step-dad to legally be my dad, I was thrilled. I'd be normal now. The thing I'll always remember about that, however, is how he said "You know, this means I get to punish you.". I just smiled and said, "I know.". When I was about nine he started drinking excessively and became very emotionally abusive. He always called me a girl, though I'm of the male gender. And I started to hate him.

When I was around ten I got my first suspension from school. I didn't know what would happen when I got home, but I sure found out. He sent my mom and siblings out to get dinner so he could 'talk' to me. He ended up getting really physical with me. And before my mom came home he told me not to tell 'or else'. So of course, I didn't.

Since then he had been physically and emotionally abusive to me and my mom. In early of last year childrens services came to my house and told my mom either she left with us [siblings and I] or they'd take us. So she left.

We ended up in a shelter for a bit, and then found some crappy townhouse fourty-five minutes away from my friends. I stopped going to school and I stopped talking to my friends. I stopped living I guess. One night my stepdad was over and he put a cigarette out on my face. And I cried therefore I was weak. So he laughed and left. I went to my room full of hatred and sadness. I had heard of cutting before, but I wasn't fond of it. Until then, anyways. I went into my bathroom and took a shaver from my moms basket. I opened it with scissors and took one of the blades to my skin. I felt such relief. Everything was ok again. I was ok again.

I began cutting almost daily. The summer was up and coming faster than I'd hoped. So I wore long sleeved shirts and sweaters in the heat. I always got asked if I was too hot; said no. Obviously. It's now January of the following year. And I'm still cutting. My exgirlfriend is giving birth in the next three days, and I still consider myself 'diseased'. I have chosen tonight to journal instead of cut. The pen will be my new blade; paper will be my new skin. I will beat my erges and hopefully overcome the angst inside. I want to be a better person, and I'm commited.

Thank you sincerely for reading.



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