Honestly, I'm mostly just trying to distract myself from my urge to cut by typing this. I've never actually talked to anybody about my depression or posted anything online but oh well.

I started cutting on my 16th birthday. Everything before that had been little more than cat scratches but I can still pick out the two little scars from that day. For about a year and a half, cutting was my addiction. My left arm is covered in hundreds of scars and words are permanently etched into both thighs. I kept it pretty well hidden though. I wore a jacket every time I left my bedroom no matter how hot it was. I never cut on my right arm that way if I had to roll up a sleeve for whatever reason, nobody would see anything. Partially through my senior year, I made a serious effort to quit. I relapsed a few times that first year. Exam stress, loneliness, fights at home, just when things got really bad. But I was going a few months at a time without cutting and I was proud of myself. It wasn't until I got my first job about six months after graduation that I stopped wearing my long sleeves. I still remember my dad giving me a ride to work that first day, looking at my arms, scoffing and saying in an exasperated voice, "So you're doing that now too?" (About 8 months before one of my brothers had attempted suicide by slitting his wrists) At this point, all of my cuts were scars, the most recent being about 4 months old. It actually really hurt and was kind of insulting if I'm being honest. I didn't respond and we never spoke of it though he did try to bring it up again a few months later when he asked "What are those?" I was actually surprised by how few people ever mentioned my scars. Aside from the two times with my dad, I've only had two people ask me about them. One was my boss who asked what they were and I just told her they were really old without really answering her question and she started talking about things she uses to help scars fade. Another was this elderly coworker who, when I gave her the same non-answer, actually asked me why I did it before pointing out a few scars of her own from her teenage years. In two and a half years I have only cut once though it has been really hard sometimes. I have occasionally used other forms of self-harm for relief: bruising and minor burns that I can press on when I need to ground myself but at least the bruises don't leave permanent marks. Six months ago I was locked inside of a burning building. My depression has been worse than ever before and the only reason I haven't attempted suicide is that I absolutely refuse to let the person who locked me inside be the reason that I break. But on nights like tonight, when I feel this sadness below the surface just beneath the numbness, I want to dig out my pocket knife just to feel something. To bring the emotions back to the surface so I feel less empty. I am so glad that my knife is tucked away in a box because if it was close to my bed I might have actually given in. But it's been over a year and I'm doing so good about not cutting that I don't want to. I just wonder if it would give me the same relief that it did before, you know?

I honestly don't even expect anyone to read this I was just trying to distract myself until I was tired enough to go to bed and I seem to have mostly succeeded. I know I should get help but therapy isn't cheap and my family isn't exactly the "talk about your feelings" type. I'm handling things fairly well on my own but tonight was just a little bit rough and I needed to let it out, even if it was just to the internet.