Really late at night too, and sometimes in a car when we're driving around. This is just my background. Fill free to read, and discuss. I'm so confused. I can't say I'm a sad person, but then again, I can't say I'm a happy person. I've always felt depressed in a sort of way ever since I could write as a child. I've written poems, and they would be about things I have yet experienced, and about death. Or a family member losing a family member. I would write about love. I was born May 30th, along with my twin sister. My mom held me first, and my dad held my sister. Throughout growing up, I was more attached to my mom, as my sister was to my dad. Me and my sister were never close, we always fought. I was the black sheep out of my family. & when I would write the poems that I would write, my mom would be my only supporter. She was the only supporter in anything that I've done. Me and my dad never really had a relationship. As a child, I was always into Beethoven, and classical music. I would seclude myself in my room. When the parents and my siblings wanted to go out, I'd stay home by myself. I have always stayed home. I never wanted to go out. I would usually write in my journal in my room, and wouldn't do much with the family. Unless I had to. When I was 7 years old, I was molested by my best friends Uncle, at one of her Birthday parties. I had never told anyone, because I wasn't yet educated on the whole molestation. & I didn't know how to bring it up in discussion. I just kept it to myself until I turned 18 years old, and I told my mom. I would constantly fight with my family. When my parents wanted to put me on medicine, I refused. Because my dad would repeatedly say it's a chemical imbalance, and that made me feel like some sort of freak. My TWIN and other siblings would taunt me, so when I would rash out to defend myself, they would call me psycho, and that I needed special help. That was around 13 years old. I wasn't pretty. I was constantly teased on in school. 13 was the first time I've thought about killing myself. I never understood suicide really, & didn't know how I would do it. I would just talk about wanting to hurt myself in my journal. I didn't really start hurting myself until I was 17. I would always keep a knife beside my bed. Even though I wouldn't use it, I kept it there just in case. Then one night, I was really upset, and thought I'd give it a try. I cut my wrist about 3 inches away from my major blood vessel. I didn't really have a "killing myself" mindset. I just wanted to feel physical pain other than emotional. I can't really explain the feeling of cutting myself. It didn't hurt. It felt, well, it felt good. Cutting wasn't a hobby with me. I didn't do it constantly. I would most likely force myself to stay awake instead of sleeping. I made myself think about other things, or I would just write, write, write, until I just fell asleep there. Then, my Senior year in high school, I ran track. After practice one evening, my dad came to pick me up. I always complained about doing things, because I was always the one who had to do them. At least between me and my twin. I was always the one who was stuck doing it. Even if she hadn't done anything. She was the Angel, and I was the shadow. We got into an argument on the way home. I told him I wouldn't do what he told me to do. & he struck my left thigh, and told me I was going to do what he told me to do. I said, no I'm not. & he struck me again. I began to cry, and continued to argue with him. He struck me again. When we got to a stop sign, I went to open the door to get out, he locked it, and sped up so I wouldn't/couldn't get out of the car. I remember tears flowing from my eyes, and I remember looking into his eyes. I remember the look on his face with that smile he just gave me the whole time while hitting me. While I screamed out, stop, stop hitting me, I hate you. That smile remained on his face. We reached another stop sign, and this is when I had the chance to get out. I shut the door to the car, and started walking home. (5 miles) He drove off, and left me there. 15/20 minutes, I see his car up on the road coming towards me. It was my mom. I didn't want to get into the car, but I had to. I remember climbing in, and sobbing, mom, mom, mom... I could barely speak. She tried touching me, but I'd jerk away and get as close as I could to the door, and further away from her. I was always the reason they fought. (mom and dad) Mom has always told me not to blame myself, but I knew I was the reason they fought. Dad blamed my mom because of the way I wrote, she let me continue. She understood what I was going through, and writing helped me release my anger. It's what stopped me from cutting myself. Like I said before, I could never sleep at night. There were nights where I'd stay up 'til 6am in the morning, and sleep all day. & then repeat those steps. I would usually stay in my room. I always brought food to my room, and etc. Then one night, I couldn't sleep, and needed to. So I went downstairs to the living room to watch TV. The television wasn't even loud, I could barely hear it. My dad woke up, and came into the living room and told me to go to bed. I told him I couldn't sleep, and he told me to get a life. I said to him, I'm not the one who needs a life, that's you. & he came into the living room, and openly knocked me on the side of the head. I stood up to him in tears, telling him to NEVER touch me again. He threatened me, as I stormed up there stairs, "next time, I'll snap your neck." They divorced, and I lived with my mom. She has this boyfriend who is wrong for her in more ways than one. & he stole her away from me. I started to cut again, and think of ways to kill myself. Like hanging, or jumping out of a window, or swallowing pills. & when I wouldn't do it. I'd call myself a coward. I went off to college in the mountains to live with my older sister, and occasionally we'd get into fights. We never got along. She was another Angel of my fathers. Then, my tires were messing up. I had to borrow money from my father. I was fighting with my sister, I started missing classes, and not doing homework/classwork. I was falling further and further behind. Then my sister kicked me out, and I was left to find a place to live on my own. My dad and sister encouraged me to drop out, and go home. (which tore me apart, because I thought your loved ones is supposed to be your full support?) So, that night, I went to a grocery store parking lot. Crying profusely. I didn't have anything to cut with, so I went inside the store and bought scissors. I kept thinking if the cashier would wonder why I was buying scissors at such an hour of the night, and see if he could save me from doing something. I would always search for a hand to hold, to save me, but I would never ask for one. I went back to the car, and cut myself 3 times. I would either cut myself with a razor, bobby-pin, a knife, anything sharp I could find. I'm 20, and I still think of suicide. I've attempted it, but when I was ALMOST to the point where I was actually going to do it, I'd stop myself. I'm such a coward to take my own life. At first I would find reasons to kill myself, and then I just stopped caring, and stopped having a reason to why I wanted to commit such a hateful thing. I stopped cutting for awhile, but then there were times where just a slight cut felt good. I'm constantly trying to hide my scars. I hate how people tell me, cutters are people who thrive for attention. They're dead wrong. At least my point of view of cutters, that's definitely what we're not trying to achieve. When you're in that state of mind, you're not really thinking, yourself really isn't thinking. Well as far as my experience is when I was cutting. I didn't really think. & I wasn't thinking about people seeing the scars. I'm embarrassed by them. & when someone asks, it just brings back memories, and makes me feel like a shitty person. I don't want to hurt the people that love me. I can't help it. & still, to this day, I still think and dream about getting in car accidents with my family or friends. & I'd dream and think that they'd be perfectly fine, but I'd be severally hurt, or dead. I want help, but I don't need it. I mean I do, but I don't want someone telling me something I already know. I don't want them to tell me I need medication. I HATE medication. I would NEVER take that shit. Never.