The sweet solitude of my room was my best friend, alone I could release the tension built inside without judgement. I started off with knives figuring that would be the obvious weapon of choice. It slide across my wrist smoothly and I was intoxicated by the feel of the cool metal. “Not too much pressure” my subconscious would remind me as I bathed in the feeling. I had no intentions of suicide or serious damage, just the release I craved. The knives were working there magic at grazing my skin but I needed more.

I thought hard on what I had heard about cutting before and razor blades being used, but where would I find one of those? (Please do not take this as a guide of any sort, I strongly discourage it.) I figured the only household objects containing what I needed was a shaving razor or a pencil sharpener. Using logical thinking the pencil sharpens blade would be easier to detach and the sooner I could be back in my start of pure indulgence. 

I quickly found what I was searching for, a pencil sharpener! Poking the tip of my knife into the screw of the sharpener I released the blade and fumbled it against my left wrist. It felt strangely comfortable against my already grazed skin, I slid it across with the same pleasure as the knife but with a large difference. My skin split the path of the razor and quickly followed the crimson evidence that I was now a self harmer, and it felt better than anything I had experienced. I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want attention. I wanted to feel alive when I was numb inside.

The sweet solitude of my room was my best friend, alone I could release the tension built inside without judgement. I started off with knives figuring that would be the obvious weapon of choice. It slide across my wrist smoothly and I was intoxicated by the feel of the cool metal. “Not too much pressure” my subconscious would remind me as I bathed in the feeling. I had no intentions of suicide or serious damage, just the release I craved. The knives were working there magic at grazing my skin but I needed more.

I thought hard on what I had heard about cutting before and razor blades being used, but where would I find one of those? (Please do not take this as a guide of any sort, I strongly discourage it.) I figured the only household objects containing what I needed was a shaving razor or a pencil sharpener. Using logical thinking the pencil sharpens blade would be easier to detach and the sooner I could be back in my start of pure indulgence.

I quickly found what I was searching for, a pencil sharpener! Poking the tip of my knife into the screw of the sharpener I released the blade and fumbled it against my left wrist. It felt strangely comfortable against my already grazed skin, I slid it across with the same pleasure as the knife but with a large difference. My skin split the path of the razor and quickly followed the crimson evidence that I was now a self harmer, and it felt better than anything I had experienced. I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want attention. I wanted to feel alive when I was numb inside.

Everything felt so right with Jack, he was the ying to my yang, my first kiss, my first love. Months of pure bliss passed, the scars of my past were fading into the distance and I could see a shinning light. We spent our days skipping school and our weekends smoking and drinking in the city. 13 year old me thought I was the queen of rebels and Jack my king. Along this road I made a best friend, Chelsea. 

Chelsea was quiet, withdrawn and originally Jacks friend. Her and I were insuperable, until the day that shattered my world. My beautiful Jack was cheating on me, finding this information out as he told me that we weren’t working. He had eyes for Chelsea and I was left there humiliated as they walked away together in front of me. 

You never forget your first love, but as the saying goes, ‘Time heals all wounds’. I broke away from the drinking and city scene, which pleased my mother greatly. She hated who I had become, reminding me daily that I was the worst thing the happened too her, the “phase”(as she called it) I as going through made her more embarrassed too the point she wouldn’t leave the house with me. 

The pressure between losing the two people I trusted most, a mother that regret having me and un helped mental heath issues from my sexual abuse started to take its toll. I started cutting my wrists secretly, my little slice of paradise began that night.

Everything felt so right with Jack, he was the ying to my yang, my first kiss, my first love. Months of pure bliss passed, the scars of my past were fading into the distance and I could see a shinning light. We spent our days skipping school and our weekends smoking and drinking in the city. 13 year old me thought I was the queen of rebels and Jack my king. Along this road I made a best friend, Chelsea.

Chelsea was quiet, withdrawn and originally Jacks friend. Her and I were insuperable, until the day that shattered my world. My beautiful Jack was cheating on me, finding this information out as he told me that we weren’t working. He had eyes for Chelsea and I was left there humiliated as they walked away together in front of me.

You never forget your first love, but as the saying goes, ‘Time heals all wounds’. I broke away from the drinking and city scene, which pleased my mother greatly. She hated who I had become, reminding me daily that I was the worst thing the happened too her, the “phase”(as she called it) I as going through made her more embarrassed too the point she wouldn’t leave the house with me.

The pressure between losing the two people I trusted most, a mother that regret having me and un helped mental heath issues from my sexual abuse started to take its toll. I started cutting my wrists secretly, my little slice of paradise began that night.

I felt releaved that I had confessed my dirty little secret too my parents. The truth was out in the open yet I hadn’t considered the storm that followed. Thing got better for the next few weeks until I got news from my mother (possibly the biggest gossip ever) that the boy had denied the claims I had made. She informed me that my father (bless his heart) had gotten so angry he had almost killed the boy. Strangley that warmed my heart and made me happy at the same time. Sick and twisted my mind played with the mental images of my father crushing the boys skull with his boot, or breaking his face in with his bare fist. Our families stopped talking, his family believed he was innocent and my family believed I was telling the truth. Though the bonds of both family remained through my mothers parents. At first when my Nana heard about the story she was shocked, and denied it aswell. Being her only grandson she stuck by his side, claiming I was a liar. They called me every name they could think of and said I made it up because I had simply ‘Never liked him’. The pain of the expierence was nothing in comparison to being called a liar when it took years and years to even tell someone.
Abandoned by them my mother wept for the loss of all of her family, secretly I think she began to resent me for it. That’s when her drinking problem started. The stress, pressure and guilt of not protecting me started to eat at her mind. She spiraled into a deep depression filled with suicide attempts and heavy substance abuse, my father didn’t confront her or try to deal with it. He went too work, that’s all he ever did.I was 13 now and had started at a new school, this is where I met Jack. Jack was a tall gothic boy that found pleasure in pain, darkness, smoking and angry music. He was beautiful too me, and I changed who I was physically and mentally to make him like me more. I blackened my hair, took up smoking and started ‘sticking it too the man’. This all caught Jack’s attention and he was impressed by how bad this new girl could be.

I felt releaved that I had confessed my dirty little secret too my parents. The truth was out in the open yet I hadn’t considered the storm that followed. Thing got better for the next few weeks until I got news from my mother (possibly the biggest gossip ever) that the boy had denied the claims I had made. She informed me that my father (bless his heart) had gotten so angry he had almost killed the boy. Strangley that warmed my heart and made me happy at the same time. Sick and twisted my mind played with the mental images of my father crushing the boys skull with his boot, or breaking his face in with his bare fist.

Our families stopped talking, his family believed he was innocent and my family believed I was telling the truth. Though¬†the bonds of both family remained through my mothers parents. At first when my Nana heard about the story she was shocked, and denied it aswell. Being her only grandson she stuck by his side, claiming I was a liar. They called me every name they could think of and said I made it up because I had simply ‘Never liked him’. The pain of the expierence was nothing in comparison to being called a liar when it took years and years to even tell someone.

Abandoned by them my mother wept for the loss of all of her family, secretly I think she began to resent me for it. That’s when her drinking problem started.¬†The stress, pressure and guilt of not protecting me started to eat at her mind. She spiraled into a deep depression filled with suicide attempts and heavy substance abuse, my father didn’t confront her or try to deal with it. He went too work, that’s all he ever did.

I was 13 now and had started at a new school, this is where I met Jack. Jack was a tall gothic boy that found pleasure in pain, darkness, smoking and angry music. He was beautiful too me, and I changed who I was physically and mentally to make him like me more. I blackened my hair, took up smoking and started ‘sticking it too the man’. This all caught Jack’s attention and he was impressed by how bad this new girl could be.

First entry, to my first ever blog. Lately I’ve been in a bad place relationship wise. Sadly, that’s even speaking too highly, these aren’t even relationships. I’ve decided to talk about it through this blog. Firstly, my name is Shannon. I’m a 20 year old female student. And when it comes to love, I’m scorned. 

My early life seemed normal to me, I had a fantastic family. My mother, father and three sisters. We lived an upper-class life style in large houses and given everything we ever asked for. To support this lavish lifestyle my father worked long hard hours from 6am to 9pm at night, while my moth stayed home with my sisters and I.

To everyone it seemed like a perfectly little family but under the surface I was cracking, little did my family know I was being raped regularly by my mother’s sister’s son. It had started from when I was very young, so young I can’t recall the exact age. At my age now I only have small flashes and glimpses, I guess it might be my mind trying to protect me from the trauma. The clearest memory I have was when it all started. 

We were all playing in out cubby house, it was two level and I was on the top level while my elder sister was down stairs. We were playing house, while my sister cooked down stairs I talked with him. He asked me a question that still haunts me to this day “Shannon, do you know what sex is?” He said to me. I shook my head and innocently said I didn’t. I was so young, I didn’t understand. He offered to show me, I replied with a ‘Yes’ that is the biggest regret of my life. For many years following I felt dirty, scared and ashamed. He told me I couldn’t tell anyone, that I would get in big trouble if mummy and daddy found out. Young and naive, I believed his lies. I felt so disgusting and dirty, I used to scrub my skin until it bled. I would see his eyes wonder to my sisters, I didn’t want them to hurt like he hurt me. I wanted to protect them from this punishment so I would pull him away from them and let him abuse me. 

The guilt I had intoxicated my mind filling me with anger and rage. I felt guilty to everyone, my sisters for doing things while they were near by. Too my parents for not telling them and too myself for doing nothing too stop it. This continued for all of my childhood. It stopped somewhere between the ages of 8-10, I guess he feared puberty where I may become pregnant. At the age of 12 years old I was hysterical one evening and my parents didn’t understand why, I sat the, down and told them everything, begging them not too be mad. This was when the real fire works began in my life.

First entry, to my first ever blog. Lately I’ve been in a bad place relationship wise. Sadly, that’s even speaking too highly, these aren’t even relationships. I’ve decided to talk about it through this blog. Firstly, my name is Shannon. I’m a 20 year old female student. And when it comes to love, I’m scorned.

My early life seemed normal to me, I had a fantastic family. My mother, father and three sisters. We lived an upper-class life style in large houses and given everything we ever asked for. To support this lavish lifestyle my father worked long hard hours from 6am to 9pm at night, while my moth stayed home with my sisters and I.

To everyone it seemed like a perfectly little family but under the surface I was cracking, little did my family know I was being raped regularly by my mother’s sister’s son. It had started from when I was very young, so young I can’t recall the exact age. At my age now I only have small flashes and glimpses, I guess it might be my mind trying to protect me from the trauma. The clearest memory I have was when it all started.

We were all playing in out cubby house, it was two level and I was on the top level while my elder sister was down stairs. We were playing house, while my sister cooked down stairs I talked with him. He asked me a question that still haunts me to this day “Shannon, do you know what sex is?” He said to me. I shook my head and innocently said I didn’t. I was so young, I didn’t understand. He offered to show me, I replied with a ‘Yes’ that is the biggest regret of my life. For many years following I felt dirty, scared and ashamed. He told me I couldn’t tell anyone, that I would get in big trouble if mummy and daddy found out. Young and naive, I believed his lies. I felt so disgusting and dirty, I used to scrub my skin until it bled. I would see his eyes wonder to my sisters, I didn’t want them to hurt like he hurt me. I wanted to protect them from this punishment so I would pull him away from them and let him abuse me.

The guilt I had intoxicated my mind filling me with anger and rage. I felt guilty to everyone, my sisters for doing things while they were near by. Too my parents for not telling them and too myself for doing nothing too stop it. This continued for all of my childhood. It stopped somewhere between the ages of 8-10, I guess he feared puberty where I may become pregnant. At the age of 12 years old I was hysterical one evening and my parents didn’t understand why, I sat the, down and told them everything, begging them not too be mad. This was when the real fire works began in my life.

This blog is the story of my life. The people involved will remain anonymous throughout.

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