When I was 10 I cut on my arms 2 weeks later my sister forced me to tell my mother. I went to tell her but I started crying. She started screaming and went upstairs for a minute and I got mad and rolled up my sleeves for her to see when she came back. I've never regretted something so much before. She saw the cuts and started screaming at me. I cried more and she told me to go upstairs. My sister came in and said my mother was crying in the kitchen. 5 minutes later my mother came back and she told me to write what was bothering me I wrote my sister because she was one of the main reasons I did. If my mother wasn't there I would've wrote her name. She made me go to therapists. And a while after she forgot about it. When I was 11 I started cutting on my thighs. It helped. My mother always asked where the switchblade went. I don't know how she couldn't realise. A few months later I got scared of eating. My mother bought mcdonalds. I got scared to ear infront of them. My mother started to scream at me. I cried. After she took me into her room and started talking to me. "why don't you want to eat?!?" "What's wrong?!" I genuinely didn't know. She told me I knew. The only thing I knew was that I didn't. She asked "have you been drawing on you'd arms again?!" "Show me ur arms" I showed her. She looked surprised. Now I draw on my thighs and arms instead of cutting them. Today I started drawing on my thighs. I used a red pen and I accidentally made a line. I searched the room for the switchblade. I forgot where I hid it. I really fucking needed it.
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