"What was your first cut like?"
I was in the seventh or eighth grade. I was curious, I wondered why others did it. I did it on my pinky finger, my right hand and I jumped, it was with a razor and it didn't hurt, but it was only a matter of time until I got addicted.
"You got addicted?"
I didn't know that self-harm would be my outlet, nor did I know that my depression, anxiety, and mood swings for come into full effect my junior year of high school. I was so angry, so sad, so emotional that it was one of the first things that came to my mind. I went away at my body, I can't remember where I started, but all I know is that I wanted to feel pain. I **needed to feel it. It was a numb feeling at first, I couldn't feel a thing but the blood seeping out of my wounds made me feel okay, as if to say, "You're still alive, you're still here." And that's when I knew I wouldn't be able to stop.
"Have you ever been addicted to anything else?"
Pills. I started taking those before I did cutting. They gave me a high and even if it only lasted for an hour and I got the headache, it was worth it afterwards. I was away, I could think what I wanted to and the voices would stop. I'd take eight at a time and I didn't care, as long as I got my high. For a while, it was all I lived for.
"Do you regret any of it?"
No, you wanna know why? Because it made me, me. I am who I am today because of those decisions. I was doing what every other teenager who had home problems and bullying at school, did; surviving. It was better than offing myself, something I thought about doing so many times. I still do, to this day. The doctors tell you that depression is hereditary but anyone can become depressed, in my opinion at least. Most times, you're already swimming in it a while before you actually realize it.