Slitz (a story about teenage cutting and depression) *pretty long but worth the read* =D

I sighed as I looked at my math worksheet. My head was pounding as if a herd of wild elephants were stampeding through it. I buried my head into my warm green sweater. I couldn’t get it I knew I couldn’t. As I waited for the bell to ring, I took out my notebook and started to write down some poetry. All of a sudden, the most popular girl in school, Lisa, bent over my shoulder and purposely spit on my paper. I didn’t say anything, I just stayed silent and didn’t move. After what seemed to be an eternity of torment, the bell rung. I quickly scurried off into the hall and went to my Science class.

Halfway through the class, I got up to sharpen my pencil, and David whom I had a crush on smiled at me and for one brief shinning second I thought maybe he liked me to and maybe I wasn’t so ugly. I was on cloud nine. But suddenly I fell flat on my face and got up to find that everyone was laughing at me. David had tripped me. I was just a big joke to everyone. After class, I ran into the girls room and cried silently. The tears felt icy cold against my hot skin. I wished I were more popular and pretty like Lisa. I wished I had long blond hair and blue eyes instead of long straight brown hair and green eyes. But I knew that would never happen.

Every time I looked in the mirror, all I saw was an ugly fourteen-year-old girl who was lost and confused about her life. The teasing in school and the constant fighting of my parents got so bad that I lost interest in everything including my friends, family, and even my school work. Soon enough, my grades began to slip and that made me feel even worst. The next day at lunch, I sat with Connie. Connie looked at me and I knew she could tell something was wrong. “What’s wrong, Tracy?” she asked nicely. “Nothing just leave me alone” I said with a deep sigh. I felt so empty inside, I felt like my soul was yearning for something that was out of my reach. Nothing bad happened the next day, but when I got home, I felt as if my world had collapsed. I rushed to my bedroom and slammed the door not even bothering to answer my mom when she asked me how my day went. I dug my head deep into my fluffy white pillow and sobbed uncontrollably for an hour. I prayed for God to just come take me out of the miserable world I was living in. I was beginning to lose control of my life and I felt worst with every passing day. So that night I silently stole into my little brothers room and took the pocketknife dad had given him for his birthday. I took the small knife and made a slit in my wrist. I felt as if my troubles had vanished like a ghost. That is when the trouble began. Cutting my wrists became as addictive to me as drugs are to some teenagers. I refused to admit to myself that I had a problem, although, deep inside, I knew I needed help before it was to late. One day, I came home from school and plopped myself onto my bed with worries and anxieties going through my head. All of a sudden, I heard my parents start arguing again and I heard glasses breaking in the kitchen. This stressed me out even more, so I reached for the little pocketknife, my only way to relax. But just as the knife was nearing my flesh, the door sprung open and there stood my little brother Jason. He looked at me then looked down at the knife. “What are you doing Tracy?” he asked me annoyingly. “Nothing of your concern” I said, my voice hoarse from never talking much. He gasped as he saw the other slits in my arms “I’m going to tell mom that you’re cutting yourself! You need help!” Rage began to boil up inside of me as I leapt up and shoved my brother into the wall and pinned him there. He looked at me with a scared look in his eyes. I started to calm down and fell to the floor crying. I begged him not to tell mom or dad about my problem. Then out of the mouth of a nine year old came some pretty wise words. “Tracy, you’re my sister and I love you, but you need to get help, this is dangerous, I don’t want to lose you” I got up and went outside to take a long walk and think about everything I was going through. I also thought about what it would do to my family if they found out that I cut my wrists. When I came home about half an hour later I noticed that there was no one home except for my dad. I asked him were mom and Jason were and he said mom had left with Jason and that she wasn’t coming back. I could tell he was trying to hold the tears back. I ran to the bathroom, tears streaming from my eyes. I needed to feel the pain that so often was the only comfort I had. So I grabbed the knife from my pocket, I cursed everyone that was putting me through this. I guess I cut to deep because before I knew it I had blacked out and awoke to my dads soothing low voice. I noticed I was in a hospital. If my dad hadn’t found me bleeding on the bathroom floor, I could have been dead. My dad made me go to counseling even though at first I refused to listen soon I started to get over the cutting. I’m not completely better yet and I still get the urge to cut when I get stressed out but I have more self control and I don’t cut, instead I talk about it. I know I still have a lot of healing to do, but the hard work that I’m going to have to go through is worth it.

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