Just a note: You might find some of this account a little triggery, especially if you are struggling with self harm issues at the moment. Take care of yourself and, as always, only read it if you feel safe to (and get some support if you're affected by it) xxx Rachel

This Is My Life

My family has a history of mental illness. On my mother's side two members have been institutionalized, on my father's side there has been a suicide and a history of severe depression and drug abuse. My father is a functioning alcoholic, who I suspect to be bipolar. He is not on any medication, and has beaten my mother in the past.

But my family wouldn't want anyone to know this. My father wants us to be "normal". That's why we packed up and moved to California from the small town in Australia where I had spent most of my life.

I began to cut about seven months ago. I learned about self-mutilation from a boyfriend, who had scars on his wrists from about a year previous. Things in my life at that point were not going well. My parents marriage was breaking up, and though I was all for that, my father was drinking heavily and blackmailing my mother with the custody of my brother. I turned to empty relationships for "love".

My cutting started out as 2cm cuts on my wrists, scratches really. Other people at my school were cutting, (though mainly just for the shock value of it), and I felt terribly dark and glamorous. Then, my father decided we were moving to California, not just another town or state, another COUNTRY. My main relationship broke up, and my three best friends turned against me. My first major cutting session was the word "PAIN" into my right thigh.

Suddenly I had come to a revelation: nobody could really see the cuts on your thighs, and there was a lot more room. The small vanity cuts had slowly evolved into their dark twin, huge deep 2 inch long cuts, leaving white scar tissue.

I had been cutting for about four months when my mother found out. She has done basically nothing about it for the past three months. My mother worries everything over too much; how much will a therapist cost, will our insurance cover it, and just unfounded worries. She truly doesn't understand how I feel, maybe even thinks I cut for "attention". I have tried to commit suicide three times. Once by "fatal" inhalation of chemicals (which left me puking and sick but not dead) and twice by trying to slit my wrists. I can never seem to cut deep enough no matter how hard I try. I am addicted to cutting, I will do it at the smallest thing that goes wrong, with any sharp object around (razor, knife, compass, pencil sharpener blade which I unscrew with my nail, pocketknife). I favour an Xacto knife though, it has maximum control and is extremely sharp.

My parents are still together, and we live in this little tract home hell in California. My dad works all day, comes home and goes into a beer-stupor, my mother hates him and is waiting till me and my brother are gone so she can leave. I cut on a regular basis and contemplate suicide.

Last night I was talking on MSN messenger to one of my best friends from Australia. She confided to me that she had been playing around with cutting. I wept. I felt like such a hypocrite, as I sat there cutting about her pain. Last night was also the first night I cut open a scar, which left a giant gash that I'm not sure will heal.

That's my story. Only a part of it really, because I also suffer from severely distorted body image and am prone to starve and binge. I have my first meeting with a therapist scheduled for a few weeks from now. I only hope that I will get through this.

Bonnie