I haven't written in a while.
Christmas was alright. Actually, it was one of the best Christmas's I've had. How was yours?

My boyfriend of a year and 9 months finally got ungrounded. =P We'll call him Nameless. Just 'cause.
I told him about my, uhm, bad habit. He didn't know. Shocking, right? I thought so, too.
I thought he'd be incredibly pissed. And he wasn't..

The conversation went like this:

-Talking about depression, blahblahblah-

Me:
 I didn't really talk to you about it before..because you always blamed yourself and I hated it when you did that because you're one of the only things that makes me actually happy. and I don't want to sound dramatic..cause I'm happy a lot too.
But you make me truly happy..I feel like I'm yours and like I'm wanted and loved and you're so funny and awesome and cute and...

Nameless:
 Awwwwww...

Me:
 so when I talk to you about it, don't ever, ever, ever blame yourself because it's not you

Nameless:
 i love you!

Me:
 I'm just emotionally challenged or something haha

Nameless:
i really really REALLLLLLLY love you

Me:
 i really really really love you, too..

Nameless:
Haha, you're the best

Me:
I gotta tell you something though...and you have to promise you won't love me less and you won't blame yourself

Nameless:
 um sure okay

Me:
 Meh..promise..I'm scared to tell you...but you should know..

Nameless:
 i promise!  what would make me love you any less?  that impossible! I love you more than anyone i know

Me:
 awe...its serious though and kinda bad....i hate it about myself....

Nameless:
 ....whats wrong?..are you okay?

Me:
 yeah..well..yeah. Hah. im just stupid?

Nameless:
 stupid?
 how?
 no way
 youre not stupid

Me:
 and i do stuff..to my legs..that isnt good.....

Nameless:
-shocked- you cut????
 youre kidding right? ____!

Me:
 meh..

Nameless:
 you cant do that kind of stuff!
 thats horrible..you cant hurt yourself like that. its not good
 i love you

Me:
 i love you ,too...

Nameless:
 i really do and you cant do that to yourself please. what if you do it and you cut really deep and like bleed to death. i dont want to lose you, ____ -upset-

Me:
 no im not gonna do that... and youre not going to lose me...

Nameless:
 but what if i do. what if your really mad and just do it out of anger or something and i dont want to see you at your funeral, ____

Me:
-silent-

Nameless:
 why do you do it....?

Me:
 i dont know...this is going to sound twisted and fucked up but i like it..it calms me down..and i dont cut deep..i barely even scar..and i dont do it because i want to die..so dont think that.

Nameless:
 you LIKE it? it calms you down..... ???? thats.....uh kinda sick....

Me:
 eh...

Nameless:
 what do you like about it...?

Me:
 i dont know..the pain i guess..because its not like..a lot..it feels like a paper cut but its enough that im like shit and i calm down when im upset..and i dont do it a lot and uh.. you still love me right?

Nameless:
 of course i love you still! If anything i love you MORE because i know your hurting inside and you need me.
____, i love you so much....youre like... all i ever think about and.. i freaking love you to death

Me:
i love you too. im sorry..i love you so much

Nameless:
i freakin love you

etc.etc.



He took it a lot better than I thought he would.
And after that he's been really, I don't know the word, supportive, I guess?
He asks questions. Which, to me, shows he cares and he wants to know. He doesn't blow it off. He knows how bad it is and he wants me to get better.

I'm not new to Xanga. I'm not new to blogging. And my name will remain anonymous.

I am starting this blog as an outlet. A rant. A diary, if you will, for others to read.

I'm nothing but a normal, teenage, high school girl. I have hobbies. I like guys. I have some good friends and some bad friends.
I don't do anything, so to speak, "bad". Drinking, drugs, partying; it isn't for me. So I don't do it. I'd rather stay home or take a walk.
My parents are divorced. They still fight. I try to avoid my dad. We don't get a long. I live with my mom. She's cool but never takes me seriously.
I'm depressed.
And I cut myself.
A lot.
I've been self mutilating since I was in 6th grade. I was 11 years old. I can't tell you what gave me the desire to want to rip apart my skin one night. I can't even really tell you why I'm so depressed.

This isn't something I talk to everyone about. Sometimes it actually embarrasses me. There are 2 people who know about it. People I can trust. One of them self mutilates, too. She's my best friend.

Normally, I don't cut my arms or my calves where people can see them in PE when I have to wear basket ball shorts and a T-shirt. I cut my thighs. All over my thighs. My inner thighs. The tops of my thighs.

I cut myself with anything sharp I can get my hands on. At first it was thumb tacks. Then I got a razor blade. It was small and actually kind of dull. I found it, cleaned it, used it. Then one day, I decided I didn't want to do this anymore. I was done. I was better than that. I threw it away.

Within a month, I wanted to cut again. I started using thumb tacks again because I knew they worked. Not well. But they worked. Sometimes I'd use scissors if I couldn't get a tack. Safety pins, kitchen knives, needles.
It seems intense but really, I didn't cut all that much. Maybe once or twice a month if that. Each "session", if you will, was about 2 - 5 cuts.

Sometimes I'd go a whole month without cutting at all. Or even thinking about it. But then I'd get an urge to want to cut so bad.

Eventually, high school started. I met my friend. We weren't good friends at first. We just kind of knew each other. Then one day I saw her cuts and I talked to her about it. I guess I needed someone to trust. Someone to talk to who understands what's going on. So I told her. She got me a knew razor blade. I started cutting again. Really cutting. And a lot.
It turns out me and my friend are extremely similar. Almost the same person but at the same time we're opposite.
She parties. She drinks. She's popular. She's bi. She's badass. And she WILL kick your ass.
We're best friends now. Almost inseparable.

The first time I used the razor blade she gave me, I swear I was in heaven. It was so sharp. I barely had to press to slit my skin.  Eventually it wore down. When she cleaned it she cleaned it with water instead of rubbing alcohol which rusted it a bit and dulled it. I needed something sharper, anyway.

I found a pack of razor blades in my garage. 100 Razorblades. Heavy Duty.
I'm not stupid. But I figured Heavy Duty didn't mean sharper than fuck. I was wrong. That razor blade was amazing. Slide it across your skin, you got a cut. Put even the tinniest bit of pressure, you've got little red rubies sprouting up all over your thighs. I love it.

Like I said, I'm not stupid. I know I should get help. I know this isn't normal. I just don't want to.
It's an addiction.
I'm an addict.


I don't do it necessarily because I "hate" myself. I don't love myself. At times I really don't like myself.
I don't do it because I want to die.
I don't do it because I want attention.
I do it because I want to.
I do it because it feels good.
I do it because it helps.
I do it because of the adrenaline rush.


I was not physically or sexually abused.
But that doesn't mean I'm not truly a "cutter". It doesn't mean I'm making this up.
I just want to get that straight.

I think about the scars.
I worry about what boyfriends in the future will think if they see them.
I hate pity.