What is Cutting?

When a person injures herself on purpose by scratching or cutting her body with a sharp object—enough to make it bleed—it is called cutting. Cutters injure themselves on their wrists, arms, legs, or even on their stomach. When the cuts heal, they leave nasty scars or marks. People who injure themselves usually hide these scars so that nobody else will see them. But the point of cutting is ultimately to cover over a much deeper emotional pain, far beyond the scars she is hiding.
        Exact numbers of people who cut are difficult to come by, since most cutters conceal their addiction and injuries. Yet rates of cutting are much higher among younger people, with the average age starting around 12-years-old. And while nearly half of all cutters have been sexually or physically abused at some point, almost all cutters admit they struggle with depression, anger, or extreme low-esteem. Most, but not all cutters, are females. Still, 20% of those who cut are guys. Most people don’t know that an increase in cutting is associated with an increase in cigarette, drug, or alcohol use.
       Facts, figures, and definitions are all fine. But if you are a cutter, you know the agony can not be described in numbers or words. You may be cutting and not even know why. Be patient with me, because next week I hope to help you understand why you cut. If you’re a cutter, please write and tell me why you do it. But more than anything, please know there is always hope for you.


I need to start new, I need a new life.
My parents don't act like husband and wife.
My friends don't seem like they really like me.
This isn't the way I want it to be.
It's not fair that they have it all.
And I just sit in my room agenst the wall
And think about how much I don't like it here.
I try to be strong and not shed a tear.
I want a new house, I want new friends.
I sorta like them but some of them.... Just suck.
People judge me all the time.
So the only thing I have left to do is rhyme.
This poem won't tell anyone how I feel.
Apparently no one thinks I'm real.
No one ever asks me if I'm okay.
So every day in my world, is a cloudy day.
It seems like forever since I've seen the sun.
Mabye if I just go and run
I'll find that bright sunny place.
And right before me in my face
Will be my new life, just for me.
This is the way I want things to be.