all these things i try to hide ;

So, here comes my very first post. I've been free from cutting for the past two or three weeks and today has been a horrible day. So instead of cutting I decided to take some advice and try to vent my frustrations via blog. I guess I'll start with a brief history so you can better understand where I'm coming from.

At twelve years old I moved into a new home with my father, mother, and two older brothers. My parents were constantly at each other's throats but tried to play it off as nothing. Unfortunately for them, I picked up on more than they thought. All the screaming and money problems that popped up because of my mom's secret gambling addiction was very stressful and and began to realize I was experienceing depression. I kept these realizations to myself. I experimented with cutting but had no real interest in it just then. I reached a point where I actually bashed my head with a hammer then covered it all up so no one could see. I guess you could say that was my first run in with suicide. A few years later when I was fifteen my parents finally divorced. This was hardly a surprise. The real surprise was that my mom declared herself a lesbian and that was the real reason for the divorce. I wasn't really upset, I thought it would be best for both my parents and possibly the whole family. By this time my two brothers had moved out.

I lived with my dad at our nice little country home for a few months until he suddenly brought up the subject of his girlfriend. He didn't mention how long they had been dating. I automatically assumed he had probably sought out from her what he wasn't getting from my mom in the final months before the divorce. I was edgy, of course, but reluctantly agreed to meet her. We met and I was pleasently surprised. She seemed nice enough and eager to please. About two months later Michelle and her three children moved from Cali to Canada and into my dad's house. I took an immediate dislike to the children, who looked for any excuse to get me in trouble with Michelle. In September, about two or three months after moving in and my leaving my fathers house to live with my mother, Michelle and my dad got married. It was excruciating.

My mother's first girlfriend Sherry, who I also suspected she had been seeing during the marriage, was a real nut job. This poor woman chain smoked like there was no tomorrow and was constantly making racial or inappropriate slurs. And she always stunk, which was off putting all on it's own. Sherry controlled my compassionate mom and turned her against me slowly until September when I pounced on my mom, accusing her of all she'd been doing wrong, and all that Sherry was doing wrong to her. My mom asked Sherry to move out. Sherry procceeded to tell me that my bi-polar and depressed mother was going to kill herself now and it was my own damn fault. This still haunts me today, I never expect my mom to return any time she leaves the house; it's a horrible haunting thought. I began to cut frequently soon after this incident.

By this time I was in my first serious relationship. My boyfriend, William, was very supportive. Our relationship lasted one year and seven months. The year was great, the months following it were hell. Sexual abuse was frequent and I also knew he had been cheating on me. At this point I had begun to develop a fear of abandonment and so I said nothing. I just tried to do everything right. In the end he left me for her, and I turned back to cutting. I cut everyday, up to ten times a day. I did it on my thigh so no one would know. I'd cut huge slices then slip on a dress or jeans and go sit with my family, thinking to myself how funny it was that I could have cut an arterie and there I sat bleeding while they looked on, oblivious. Half of me was realizing I was sick, the other half didn't give a damn. It was my body, I believed I deserved every ounce of pain. If I bled, then I was human, not what they made me.

By this time I had moved to the city an hour away from my former home. My mother came with me and we got an apartment where we could barely afford the rent and were barely scraping by. My mother left every weekend to go to NS to see her new girlfriend and left me alone, usually with no food in the fridge. I turned sixteen.

Three weeks after the break up I met another guy, Justin. He was the opposite of every single man I had ever met. I had never fallen so quickly for an individual, I was so swept up in him I could hardly believe it. We had something good for about two months before I discovered he's a pathalogical liar. He lied to me about absolutely everything and expected me to go along with it. After the shit I had endured with William, he was in for a surprise. By our sixth month we were both miserable, I found myself crying constantly. Then came my second suicide attempt. My mom wasn't at home, as usual, and I downed any pills I could find on the bath room shelf. I lay on the floor crying bitterly, a suicide note beside my leg, still dressed in the fancy night gown I had bought for our six month anniversary, which he had ditched me for to go get drunk during the day. Classy, right? Anyway, I lay waiting for it all to end. It didn't. I don't know how or why, but nothing happened. I was alive and well. Okay, alive, at least. I was disappointed. On some level, I still am. A month later I was rushed to the hospital after slicing my wrists open at school with a piece of metal in the bathroom during a break down. This occured three weeks after our break up.; we had dated for several months. I had let him fully in and in a lot of ways he hurt me more than any physical pain William dealt me. I knew how to deal with the physical, the emotional was the real drag. I still have trouble coping.

Now here I am, July 10, 2009, still raging war with myself. I want out of this misery. I'm at a loss. The Prozac works some days, other days I'm back with my fifteen year old self on the edge of my bed with the kitchen knife. I have constant daymares and find myself thinking sick things and tracing over the scars on my wrists. I live with my nan, who I am extremely close with and who has congestive heart failure (she's 86), and my aunt, which whom I am also extremely close. My dad resides in the same small town we were in for so long with his wife and kids. My mom has recently left me to go live in NS with her girlfriend of failing health. I have not cut in three weeks. Let's hope it stays that way. Oh, and I'm also seeing a new guy, Fabio, who is four years my senior and much more stable. Let's see how this pans out. I hope it turns out better than my previous picks. I think the age difference might be a plus, and he's just a fun guy to be with, I really care about him. I fall hard, so let's hope I don't lose my head this time ;) !