Part II

I've gotten so many letters from teens and adults who self-injure that I added a second page of quotes from their letters, with permission of course. Hopefully this might help people who are in emotional pain share their feelings with others and realize that there is help for this condition AND that you are not the only person who is "cutting". Thanks again to everyone who sent me their letters. ~ Amy, President, Cool Nurse ~

WARNING: Some of this content may be disturbing to read and may 'trigger' memories in some people.

I am 17 years old now, and I have suffered over the years with depression and self harm. I have been to therapists and mental hospitals along the way, but nothing helped. Cutting was an addiction. I liked doing it.

It got so bad eventually that I couldn't stop until my arms were a mutilated mess! I had no problems with infection ( I took care of them) but my head was always spinning. I feel cutting to me was like a smoker with a carton of cigarettes, only in my case the cigarettes were razors. Now I am OK, one day the urge just went away. I am being treated with medication in which I am slowly being taken off of. It's been over a year for me and “cutting” and there are times when I want to, but then I look at the scared parts of my body, it just tells me not to do it....and I don't.

I have learned greatly, and although I hated talking to therapists, I still got my words out, whether it be paper, or a close friend. Venting is a part of life. * Tip, a counselor once told me to put an ice pack on my wrist, to calm the feeling when it got really bad, like a nicotine patch slowly getting you down (metaphorically speaking) well I hope this will help some one out there. - Cassie from Massachusetts -

My name is Natasha and I am a "cutter". I used to cut for the attention, but now I can't stop. Sometimes I catch myself before I get to far, but sometimes I don't. My mom caught me when I was cutting right before the 6th grade, but she doesn't know that I still am cutting. The cut I had made the day my mom caught me is now a lifelong scar that will never go away. I was about 10 when I started, now I am 13. I try to stop, I even have my best friend trying to help me, but I just can't. I used to cut only once every month or two, but now it is getting more serious. I'll cut after school, before bed, really whenever I get the chance. I know I need help, but this is the way it is. - Natasha, Age 13 -

When I was in 6th grade I started cutting, I thought it was cool. I only did it once or twice then because I was afraid that I would hurt my mom. That was when I realized that I did not have to cut only my arms or wrists. When I moved to a new school I started cutting again, I told my self that it was art because I made designs (pentagrams, circles, names, etc.) that some other people I know liked. When my sister came out that she made herself throw-up I could not keep my "dirty little secret" any more. I was sent to therapy, but I resented it from the onset. She fired me because I told her I was playing with her mind. I stopped cutting for a while almost a year, but then I met my now ex-boyfriend. He was into the whole blood drinking thing, and that got me started again. The thing that changed me, that made want to stop was when he cut himself 8 inches along his ribs and it was nearly a centimeter deep. I am now actively in therapy and I am still having the urge, but I know I have people who I can talk to. I take things a day at a time now. - Eve, Age 15, USA -

I first cut myself when I was 17. I woke up feeling depressed and out of control, but I needed to pull it together and go to school, so I just grabbed the scissors off of my desk and hacked away at my arms. I don't know why I did that, but it made me feel better. The cuts weren't very deep and didn't bleed too much but they hurt, and the physical pain helped me regain control. For the next while I continued to cut my arms and legs. I used sharper objects, but not razor blades - I wanted the pain, not large scars. A few months later I slashed my wrists open in a lame suicide attempt and ended up in the psychiatric ward for the first time. Ever since then I have been cutting/burning/hitting myself on and off. I can go a couple of months without doing anything only to go on a binge for the next several months. It depends how things are going at the time.

I am now 25 years old and I am going through a binge period. My arms are covered with burn marks (I look like I have a really odd case of the measles), my head is bloody and bruised from knocking it against brick walls, and my legs are covered with scars made with various sharp implements. I carve words into my legs now.

Currently you can read "miserable c--t", "give up", "ugly", "fat", "I hate myself", "I am a failure", "lazy", "I am dead" and "evil", in my legs. I have grown more fond of razor blades. I usually do a mix of things when I cut. I cut myself with duller blades that hurt more, and then with razor blades to watch the blood.

Cutting was always my secret, although my parents found out in high school when I was brought home drunk by the cops. But I told them I stopped, and they believed me. Now they've found out again and I'm back seeing shrinks.

I've been diagnosed with a "borderline personality", which is untrue in my opinion, but your opinion never counts once they've shuffled you into the psychiatric wing. Now I'm just doing my time in therapy until I've served my sentence. I don't want to stop cutting. It's the only thing that makes me feel better. It's better and faster than drugs. When I cut I'm in control, and I can cut as much and as deep as I want. I can burn myself as many times as I please. They may not allow me to kill myself, but they can't take this away from me.

Wherever I go I carry something sharp on me. I cut or burn at least once a day. I only wear dark pants, because they hide blood stains the best. My room is a mess of razor blades and knives. Tranquilizers and antidepressants. Sleeping pills and pot. None of it works. I am never happy, I am never satisfied. I can neither harm myself as much as I deserve nor bleed the anger and resentment out of my body. So, I go over my suicide plan for the hundredth time hoping that some day I'll be able to carry it out. Some day, but not yet - I can't bring myself to do that to my father. My plan is perfect: quick, painless, clean, and lethal. But for now I just hurt myself. I hurt myself because I feel so shitty that I want to die but I can't let myself do that yet. I hurt myself because I am so angry I know that if I don't hurt myself I'll start destroying things, and I hate it when I do that.

People notice when you put your foot through walls or break windows. Nobody notices if you slash your legs open. I don't want people to notice me. I don't want people to know. I don't want to cause trouble or worry. I want to be quiet. I want to be invisible. I know that all of my problems are my fault. I know that cutting is just a bad coping mechanism. I am a weak person and I can't deal with life. I don't believe that I'm mentally ill, I just need to get a grip and grow up. But I know I won't. I don't want to. I don't see the point. - USA, Age 25 -

I started when I was 7. My mom always thought that it was me falling off of the swings and getting cut on the playground stuff there. But I would stay inside and cut myself with paper clips. Then one day I stopped, I didn't even think about it for a long time. When I started the 6th grade, I met one of my best friends. She was always happy and you would never see her not smiling. That was the year that I got my first 70 in anything. And I cut myself. I though of it as a punishment. Then through out the year I would cut myself. It was only in places where nobody would see, like my ankles, upper arms, thighs, stomach, and sometimes my bikini line. She found out and I told her that I would stop, and then she moved. That was my 7th grade year. I didn't want that year to end because she was moving. I had attempted to kill myself by cutting my wrists and my neck. (Luck for me I have not a single scar on my neck). My 8th grade year went by like nothing. Every few days I would cut myself if I felt that I was "bad" or just out of boredom. And now in my 9th grade year, I started to cut again. I got a boyfriend and he didn't know anything about SI. (I was a whole new experience to him.) He one day found out because I had cut my lip with a pin and he started to get worried. A few days later he checked my ankles and saw scars and fresh cuts. I told him that I would do that because I was bored, scared, being "bad" or I didn't know how to handle the pressure. And he just looked at me. Then in March I started again and he found out that night. The very next day I wrote him a note saying I was sorry and I hope that he can forgive me. He told me to promise on his life and our relationship. I couldn't do that so I promised on my life. When he looked at my ankle for the first time he saw scars of lines, hearts, words (en. I HATE MYSELF, DIE, F*** YOU), and he saw pain. He felt what I was going through, but he knew how to handle it. So far I have gone 3 months without cutting. I think about it, but I won't. Because I promised MY life on it. ~ RaVeN Age 15 Texas, USA ~

Thank you to all for sharing.