Scars

So I decided to talk about my cutting a bit, since I mentioned it a few posts ago.
Two years ago I started cutting, and the funny thing was that I really didn't have a reason. Like, my life kinda sucked, but I didn't have any reason at the time I did it. The genral time period sucked, but the day that I started, nothing specific was wrong. It was just like "Hmm, I want to cut today." and that was that.
I cut on my arm, stupidly and eventually people found out and by extension my mother, because someone told guidance. So, my mother didn't really care all that much. She sent me to a therapist and (of course) she was Christian, which I'm not. I just went a couple of time and then it became a place for my mother to complain about how annoying I was in front of me, so I refused to go and my mother didn't care. She later made me go when she found out I was Pagan. She freaked out when she found out I was Pagan and decided I was destroying my life, but cutting wasn't a big deal. That kinda sums up my mother. She's a racist, selfish pig. She avoids black people, people with dyed hair, people who sound different, Indian people. Basically everyone that looks or talks different than her. She hates people who aren't Christian, which she denys but she hates all my friends that are Buddhist or whatever. In her mind, different is bad. She's what you would call a white supremacist. It's a lovely home life, really.
Anyway, enough about her. So I had to stop outright cutting because she made me stop wearing my jacket for a while and took my razors. Yeah, not shaving for a year was fun. You try wearing nothing but jeans in the south during the summer. =/
I started doing dangerous stuff all the time. I would walk in the 'druggie woods' as I call it at night. I'd play chicken with cars on the highway. I'd jump off roofs and other tall things, basically anything to tempt fate. Then I got my razors back. I was fine for a while, almost a year. Then a friend of mine died, more than a friend. I'd known him for a very long time He was hit by a car while I was on the phone with him. He wasn't driving or anything, he was walking on the side of the road. I blamed myself for a really long time. I was numb for a long time. Then one day I was taking a bath and it all hit me. All the things I hadn't felt for nearly six months hit me. It was horrible. I wanted nothing more than to die. And I tried to. I was fighting it as hard as I could, but I just wanted to die. I was crying and screaming and trying desperately to make myself keep my head above water. But I just kept hearing the car hit over and over again in my mind. My head I slipped under water and I don't know how long I stayed there. I stayed there way past 'I can't breathe.'. The only thing that made me pull my head out of the water was the thought that he wouldn't want to me to do that. So I came up gasping and ran out of the bathroom and into my room. I sat shivering in the corner of my room for hours, just staring at the floor, letting everything roll over me. Every single bad thing that happened for six months, all came crashing down at once. And I rode it out. It was about nine at night when this all started. By the time I got up from the floor it was almost twelve hours later. But I only got up to take a fist full of sleeping pills and pass out. I was out for two days. I went out to the woods a few days later and and ran through all the thorns and it felt so good. but I didn't cut. This happened in January. I only started cutting again recently. So yeah...there's another little story that has contributed to the depressed state I'm in now. That was the only time I out-right tried to kill myself. Everything else I've done, I just did with the possibility in mind that I could die. I never did it in order to die. Just to try to feel something other than pain.