the first time i cut myself was 5th grade. my friend told the principal who then told my mom and guessed what my mom did? nothing. she said it was bad and i shouldn’t do it. no comforting words or anything. i kept doing it for years until i got the help i needed 8th grade. at the beginning of 8th grade i was so alone and so depressed and was on the verge of suicide until i had the courage to tell someone. then i went to get a psych eval which led to me having a therapist and going on meds. i love my therapist, kim, she brings crafts for me to do and makes talking easier i just wish she’d give me more coping skills but to be fair i haven’t told her i want more coping skills. anyways, this year i fell wayyy deeper into depression and i’ve been having a really hard time with my anxiety so i cut again. it made me feel so good. just seeing the blood rush out and feeling that little second of pain. when i went to a mental hospital for a week my anxiety was through the roof so i would scratch myself, until i started to bleed. for some reason pain is the reason i’m alive. is that weird?