I actually love this post in all honesty and I want to share my journey from how it started to where I am now!

I'm 14, it all started when I was 11. It was a long summer for me back then, I was very very ill and couldn't stand up without passing out and I got very depressed and was on depressing tablets and counselling, I could barely pick the glass of water up to take my pills. I had no idea what was going on, and because I felt as though nothing was working to make me feel better, I started cutting, not properly or deep and stuff, just lightly. I used to have around 6 panick attacks a day, my mum thought I was putting them on, so I cut more and more and more, then a year later they diagnosed me with perniciousanemia, that felt as though it was the cherry on the cake. I felt awful, deseased. I got so many major problems with my dad, I hated him. I then started cutting deeper and deeper because I found it hard doing every day things.
a year went by again and I was still cutting, 3-4 times a week, all over my hips, theighs, arms, wrists, stomach, ankles, anywhere you could think off, I went through a bad stage with my mum because I started going off the rails, it was horrendous, I stopped telling her where I was going, who I was with, coming in at the early hours of the morning, it was just horrid. Me and my mum fought constantly, I kept getting into fights over people taking the piss out of my cuts, got involved with the police a few times, started smoking, not just tobacco, started smoking weed, drinking, slept with a few people, boyfriends all cheated on me because I didn't want to shag them.. it wasn't nice! I was cutting deeper and deeper because I hated myself, I turned into the kind of person that I hate the most.
I refused help from anyone. I had a lot of anger, hatred, upsetness, just awful feelings and thoughts.

So one day, I thought to myself that I needed to stop, stop before I took it too far. I don't know how I did it, but I made things up with my mum, I turned into a different person.
Well, I say I did. I tried too, I tried and tried to stop cutting, it was so hard. I could litteraly only go for 2 months at a time then everythign would build up and I'd just cut as deep as I could, until I saw the blood dripping all the way down my body.

Not gonna lie, I've had my ups and downs.

It's been about 4 months since I have cut, I've tried but I froze up.
I do counselling with camhs (child adolescence mental health service) I go once a week, I get serious urges, If I go into a bad mood, I go into a serious bad mood. I now have a beautiful girlfriend, she's amazing. Me and my mum get on so well, now she's like my bestfriend. I still don't get on with my dad even today, he done a lot of discusting things to me and my mum and sister, I hate him. But I'm a much better person today in all honesty.

I feel as though cutting is always a part of someones life, even if they've just done it once, or twice, or a million times. It will never leave a person! It's like a bug, that sticks with you. All anyone needs is love and support from the right people to get back on track. I mean, I aint gonna lie. I think about cutting about 10 times a day, but my family and my girlfriend get me through it.

Everything I have just wrote on here, isn't even the half of it! I have done and been through unthinkable things that I don't like going into, but if you read this, thank you for listening to my post

i was 10 and a friend and i talked about suicide and we were both cuirous about it....me more than her b/c when she went home i strangled myself....hated it never did it again....i was 12 and thought maybe it would feel different...did it again, same effects stopped....i was bullied my freshamn year of high school....i was 14....some friends of mine had cut and said that they felt better....cut and felt good, but stopped.....at age 16 i strangled myself again b/c my boyfriend made a comment that really hurt me.....almost killed myself that night-on accident-never did it again.....age 18 i was lead on by a guy i met at college cut...A LOT...told friends and family and was treated....now at age 20 i am still recovering....i still have relapses along the way and i cut for various reasons, but i'm overcoming this drug......i have 2 therapists who really support me, a family who is doing their best, friends who help and care and coping skills to use....of course, when all else fails i go to the hospital and i am okay with that.....i think it IS possible to stop.....i mean, for the first time in a looooong time i see myself stopping and never doing it again.....

I think it started for me bak in fifth grade (I'm in tenth now), during the summer. I was really lonely and going through alot back then. One day my mom left me home alone and I was just surrounded by emptiness and my thoughts and I couldn't take it. I don't remember exactly what made me do it the first time, but I'm pretty sure I was mad at myself. I have low self-esteem, and sometimes (alot of the time, actually) I feel like I hate myself. I took my ipod, and hit my wrist with the corner of it until my skins was red and scratched. By the time my mother got home, though, the scratches had vanished. it continued, but I never really thought of it as "self-harm" I just thought I was punishing myself. A while after that, I started hitting myself. I had a lot of hatred and anger in me, not just at me, but at the entire world, but I wasn't allowed to take it out on anyone else. I actually showed my mom and sisters and pretty much anyone who looked, and said I had punched the bruise on my forearm, just cause I wanted to see if I could. No one thought of it as bad or harmful, so I continued. Eventually, though, I stopped, and just went back to the scratching. For a while, it got better, and it was just something in the back of my mind, but this summer, it got really bad. At one point, it didn't hurt enough, so I basically took this weird soap stuff that had pumice in it and rubbed my arm til it was raw. That felt better....until the next day. My whole arm was red and looked like I had some sort of rash. I had to run into the bathroom every morning and cover it with foundation before my mom (who was pretty much clueless) woke up and saw.
About a week later, I went to the doctor about what I thought was an anxiety disorder and found out that I was depressed. I started counseling and was put on Prozac. I actually started feeling better, because I felt like I wasn't a freak for feeling this way, so it stopped.
However it didn't last long. I had a bad reaction to the Prozac, and that ticked my mom off and (in her mind) proved she was right and all medication was horrible. I was in a stressful play surrounded by people I hated or didn't know, I felt left out in my group of friends, and my mom decided this year would be a good year to turn into "non-understanding psycho mom". I still didn't self-harm, though, because I felt like the world was punishing me enough-I didn't need to add to it.
Then, my father died. I had issues with him all through my life, and his death was totally unexpected (and on opening night of the play, cause the world is just awesome like that). The night before his funeral, I was laying in bed, so angry at him, so angry at myself for being angry at a dead guy, just so so so so so ANGRY. I got up and started looking around my room, trying to find somthing, anything sharp. I finally found a push pin and scratched five lines in my thigh(because I absolutely hate them). After that, I started scratching with a saftey pin that I kept on my nightstand. My mother caught on that something was wrong after his death, but she didn't want to talk, she was SO SURE I was getting better. (I wasn't.) She hid the razors, and I got really, really angry, because she didn't trust me, she could stay so blissfully unaware, and didn't even car she was putting me through heck. The second she thought I was "okay", she put them back in the cabinet, denying they ever disappeared. Around the same time, I also found out she read my therapy journal, which was my the one thing she still didn't know about. Since she had snooped and took away my secrets, I decided I needed a new one. so I started cut myself with a razor. It really really hurt, and I had trouble covering it, so I went back to my safety pins. Unfortunately, that's where I am now, alternating between saftey pins on my arms, and razor cuts on my hips, belly, and thighs. :/ I feel like it's gonna be a long, long time before I stop, mainly because it started from disliking myself, and I'm not convinced I'll ever truly like myself.