....

In this post i will tell you everything, every little bit.



Now I’m going to tell you something i never really told anyone.
I don’t know why i started cutting, and i never thought i would get so obsessed with it.
Thanks, now i’ve gotten that off my chest.
I saw this girl who looked so cool with those scars, and yeah, i wanted scars to, and after that’s done, i’ll quit!
Nah, didn’t think so…

Today has been almost 5 years of constant cutting and one year with diagnoserad depression, time has gone so fast..

I was like 9-10 when i first started, just some small rubbish, and didn’t leave any scars, kinda hopeless when i really wanted those goddamn scars..

About a year after i started with other razors and the cuts had gotten deeper, was so happy.. Well almost..

After that *i’m so happy the cuts got worse* thing, it kinda just float past me, I still cut and tried to hide it, long sleeves and shorts on the summer.
Things were going great.
Until i finally told my friends, i don’t really know what they thought but i didn’t really care.
After a few months my mom went into my room and like “Erika are u cutting?” Well obviously i said no, but she found out anyway, so she called the counselor at our school and i didn’t really tell her what was wrong, cus i, myself, didn’t know what was wrong.

Time passed through and after a while this counselor gave me a paper and simply said “write your name here”i didn’t read the text and i didn’t know why i was gonna do that but i was curious so i wrote my damn name on it (the worst thing i ever did in my life by then).

By this time my cuts went on my thighs and upper-arms. (I think some on my wrists too)

I got sad because i cut, because i started.
I got sad because my body really weren’t like the others.
I got sad because i couldn’t handle all the preassure.

I went to that meeting with the psychologist, and she showed me the paper i had just written my name on.
I was terrified, frightened, but most of all, i was ok, my life was ok.
I didn’t really knew why i was there, why they had forced me there.

Anyways, my life went on and i had good grades and my friends were alright.

I went to this f*cking b*tch (sorry for my language) once every week and she really just was a pain in the ass…
So i had the opportunity to change, from her, to another b*tch! (sorry again)

This was really hard for me, i really wanted to trust those people, but they kept on pushing me down, lower and lower, and so i told my parents, but they didn’t believe me, so i had to stand those two, i’m gonna say it now, these two women who literally bullied me for about 7-8 months!

By now i can’t stand school, so i’m starting to skip some classes, and even some days a week, just to be with some of my friends, finding ciggarettes and just trying not to get caught.

And still cut that time of the year, i did for almost every day for these almost 5 years of my life.

I wanted to escape my feelings, and then, one night, i escaped, i ran away.
Went to my friend, who didn’t even knew if i could sleep there, but i went there anyways.
My mom and dad called me, texted me and wrote to me on facebook all night.
I was so afraid that they would come and get me, but happily they didn’t!

They called the socials and i had to go there and tell her what happened, i HATED her, i was so hateful to all these people, some nights i even dreamed that i killed them, and yeah, that’s some horrible thoughts, but i couldn’t help them.

Of course i ran away again, to the same place, but this time i was with this guy, who had awfully much spice (drugs) and yeah, i wanted to be “cool” in front of my crush (yes he was my crush and yes we were together) so, i smoked some too!

We went in to their apartment, and then someone knocked on the door, the little girl went and opened, all i heard was “yeah she’s here” and some really heavy, but determined steps. My dad, ofcourse.

We went out of the apartment but in the stairwells i happened to tell him he’s a dumbass, and he grabbed my shoulders and tossed me into the wall, spit on me, and told me i’m the one who should be careful now.

Soon i got into the car and just sat and stare.
I didn’t want to live.

I could barely breathe, the air in the car was so tense it got misty on the windows.

First thing i did when i was home was getting that damn razor and cut.
This was on my thighs, the deepest i’ve ever cut. I really wished i had cut that deep on my wrists, I really wanted to die.

I got a little better but am still in a critical state where i don't know where i am in life.