This is for my amazing friend, who doesn't realize how fucking incredible he is.
I don’t understand the downsides of cutting. I don’t. Cutting is bad for some strange reason. We aren’t allowed to shed our blood, to cause ourselves pain, because it’s sick and just isn’t right. But it’s okay to make yourself deaf by listening to music to make yourself feel better. You don’t hear people complaining about how listening to music is bad (referring to the release of emotions you feel when listening to music you connect with and fully describes your mood and predicament). Yeah, sure, you bleed when you cut. Listening to music loud enough to satisfy your emotional needs harms your eardrums. Watch, I’m trying to rationalize bring harm to yourself, mutilating and cutting yourself to pieces. Slashing every inch of your flesh, watching the crimson red blood flow freely out your every cut, every slice and wound in your skin. But it’s okay to make yourself deaf by listening to music to make yourself feel better. It’s okay to become dependant on therapists to feel better, you can’t rely on yourself to relieve pressure. Not saying that music isn't a good thing, though.. So, here’s my life story. Mostly just the worse parts. My mother told me that when I was born, I weighed 4lbs, 6oz. She told me that the doctor called me "the healthiest bone bag that he's ever seen." : ) My mother and father divorced when I was three, so my two siblings and I visited our father every second weekend. Our mother remarried a waste of flesh by the name of… let’s call him ‘L’. Our house burnt down on the farm, we lost everything. Later our father remarried a lady who’ll go by the name of ‘D’. D has three children: two daughters and one son. The daughters are snobs, the son… eh, he wants to fuck me. (Person who's name starts with a "D"? Yeah, you know who it is, don't tell.)So L was a drug and alcohol addict, and he died a few weeks ago. He verbally abused my siblings and me, and one particular memory I have of him was throwing a mop at me javelin-style. I dodged it, though. Also, he pulled the keys out of the car just as my mother was turning onto a highway, resulting in a car barely missing hitting our car. He touched my sister inappropriately and ordered my mother around. He cuddled me. When he was naked. Immediately after I got out of a bath or shower. My mom, as a result, to all the stress from him and her children, turned more heavily onto cigarettes and alcohol, barely eating, having a terrible time sleeping, with nightmares and all. As a small ignorant child, I ignored all this, saying to myself, “She’ll get better, she’ll get better.” As my mother got skinnier and skinnier, sicker and sicker, my sister moved out of the house and into town because of L. Being as we lived in the middle of nowhere, she couldn’t just go stay at a friend’s or anything…. My brother moved out a few years later as well, for the same reason. I thought L was alright, after all, I was a little ignorant child who was easily convinced as such. Random fact: I hit my head on things a lot. There was one time where I was running up the stairs, and turned the corner when I got to the top. My long, braided hair caught on the window blinds that were next to me. My feet flew up, my head stayed where it was, and I landed on the floor, flat on my back. My mom started laughing. >.< My brother, only hearing me scream and a loud thump, rushed up from downstairs, and started asking me if I was okay. : ) Another story: My mom had just put my long hair in a loose bun on the back of my head. I noticed it would flop if I flung my head down. I was sitting in front of a table. I threw my head down, my hair flopped up, I -slammed- my head onto the solid oak table. Ouch. Anyway, I spent much of my time outside, in forts, on walks.. I had a best friend who lived half a mile from my house, so I visited a LOT. I also went over to my other neighbours’s a lot, where we jumped on the trampoline and played on the haybales. One calm, peaceful night, we were hanging out, as usual. He’s as old as my brother. I got bored jumping on the tramp, so I asked, “Can we go jump on the bales?” In response, he offered, “Will you do anything?” Me, being a fucking ignorant child, agreed, “Anything”. We, of course, went and jumped and bounded on the hay bales, from one end of the long stretch to the other. He got bored, and wanted his end of the deal to be fulfilled. We sauntered back to the tramp then, and I resumed bouncing and bouncing and bouncing, as he lay on the cool grass beside the tramp. He proceeded to persuade me to lay beside him, which I eventually gave in and did. We laid there, side by side, the mildly damp grass gently scratching and cooling our backsides, gazing at the stars above. He softly placed his hand over my mouth, climbed on me, his legs split and bent at the knees to place his *cough* crotch over mine. He pinned down my arms above my head, and began to edge his hand further and further down my pants.. In visitations to my father’s, my two step sisters raided my belongings and took as they pleased. They verbally abused me as well, occasional physical abusing. My step mother and I didn’t really get along.. Enough said. So life went on like that for a while. I went from strongly disliking going to my father’s, to it wasn’t so bad, to silently resenting L. Let’s skip to where I move into my father’s house, directly across the school. My brother later told me how much I had upset my mom by doing that, by moving out without any notice. So, one night, when Mom and L were in town, I called my father and he came (ha, he came) and got my cat and I. We went Dad’s house, and everything proceeded as normal. It was a little odd being there on that day, it had a different feel, a different vibe to it than normal. So I went to school as normal, Mom took the cat back the next day. The next time I had communication with her after my moving was at least 3 weeks after. I felt so guilty.. So I started to have visitations with my mother, going out there every few weekends, whenever. I started to stop going out there.. I stopped calling her so frequently.. I stopped pretty much all communication with her. I felt that I was taking too much of her time, that I was a burden, and the time she spent taking care of me she could be spending taking care of herself. I just tried to focus all my time on.. anything else. Life went on. I had two friends at my school, one of which wasn’t in my grade, the other I barely talked to. I just sat there in the classroom, listening, silently observing. I got along better with the guys than I did with the girls, though. I always have. I passed all my classes with an average average. (<–intentional repetition). I started to get attracted to darkness and bleakness, but not really showing it. Skipping ahead, to a few weeks before September. My mom got considerably worse in health, and had frequent trips to the hospital. She finally ended up staying in the hospital, yellow as ever. Which reminds me of the time where we went out together, and she bought me glasses. The exact ones I have right now, I think….. Maybe? No? I don’t know, and it depresses me because I can’t remember ._. But while my mom and I were walking to the optometrist, I commented on how strangely yellow she looked. She, knowing that it was probably the beginnings of jaundice, got concerned.. But skipping back to my mother in the hospital, my sister then made the comment, “You’ve looked like you’ve aged 50 years from the last time I saw you..” I brought our doll to her, Sweetest Cow. She kissed the doll, and snuggled up with it. It made me die inside, for it made me reminisce all the times we had played with my dolls together, giving each a voice and unique personality. I didn’t cry. We left shortly thereafter. She got transferred to Red Deer Intensive Care Unit after her first heart attack. We drove there, me silently crying off and on, turning away so no one would see me breakdown.. When we saw her.. One eyelid was barely open, showing her yellowed sclera, ( <--- technical word >:D ) the other eyelid fluttering as the machine forced air into her lungs, forcing her to breathe, her heart to pump. Her deeply tinted yellow skin littered with bruises, discolorations, and dried blood. I was given an unwanted moment alone with her, my mother. The very last moment I ever had with her. I said a few short words, and held back the tears that were burning the edges of my eyes, threatening to burst and show the world how weak I am. The last words I ever said to her? “I love you, mom. Feel better, see ya.” Yeah, talking to an almost corpse, unknowing if she was aware of my last awkward moment with her, wasted. I left then, back to my sister who was waiting patiently in the hall. I spent the next night, along with my sister, with our aunt in a trailer in Red Deer, with plans to go to the hospital in the morning. Well, in the morning, we got a call from the doctors, notifying us of the disheartening fact that she had died ten minutes before from a series of heartattacks. I didn’t cry. The next night, I was screaming, shaking from the force of my cries. The days past, I was either in denial or was numb. Her first birthday without her. First Christmas without her. Nothing had any meaning. School, eat, sleep. School, eat, sleep. I cried sometimes. Sometimes I didn’t. My teacher pulled me aside one day, and mentioned how my grades had dropped drastically after my mom died.. I hadn't noticed. I started with just a little cut, just to try it. I didn’t mean it to go that far, I was only curious. I liked it. I really, really liked it. More, I needed more. I started to crave it, to rely on it, it was everything. Then, my now -only- friend at school cut as well. We fuelled eachother. I started burning too. I smoked, I tried weed. My world was going to hell, I couldn’t seem to breathe without pain. Pain was everything. One night, I took 5 tylenol, 5 advil, some sleeping pills, various other pills, and a fair bit of booze. Suicide attempt #1. Pathetic, eh? I actually can’t remember the other suicide attempts.. I stayed as a recluse in my room. School, room, food, room, sleep. Repeat. Then the eating stopped. Music. I Don’t Care by Apocalyptica. The Bleeding by Five Finger Death Punch. The house set on fire. We lost a bit, the cats got out via my bedroom window. We moved to town, into a house above a pot smoker, whom of which no one got along with but me. I met a boy. Quite literally the best kisser I’ve ever met. (Not like I've kissed many people, anyway : ) He wants absolutely nothing to do with me. He was the cause of me stopping cutting, he really helped.. He made me promise I won’t kill myself, and I will hold true. I now have a bracelet, a lock bracelet, that will hopefully keep me from cutting. I also have you, yes -you- to help me through this. Thank you.