The Stories Behind my Razor Scars

Updated: Nov 18


Story by Anonymous

Self-harm is such a sensitive topic to me. It started at the time my mother used to beat me up. It was in 9th grade and it was so bad that it inflicted scars on me. The marks from her nails and brooms came through on my skin. I picked up a blade for the first time to ease my pain and ended up resorting to self-harm every time my emotions hit rock bottom.


It escalated once and she choked me. It was the final straw. I was ready to end my life that day. Thankfully, the blade didn’t do much damage. My condition that night was an eye-opener for my mother, who stopped beating me and, my father broke down in tears when he saw me. My mother stopped beating me and I promised never to hurt myself after that day.


However, things changed.


Later, I dated a boy I liked. But, the devil in him wasn't apparent until one awful day. He had a very peculiar habit of tipping his driver, that I discouraged. And he did the same that day but I didn’t understand why. 


As usual, he would drop me home. We sat in the back seat when he suddenly asked me for oral sex. I bluntly declined. His driver looked at us through the rear mirror, but he insisted until he quickly dismissed the issue by asking me for a kiss. His tone felt genuine so, I obliged.


It happened so fast. Everything seems like such a blur to me. He pushed my head down and forced me to do it. I was shocked and gave in out of the fear that if I fought, he would throw me out of the car. That evening, I told him I never wanted to see him again. His mask was off, I was left traumatized and I couldn’t tell anybody.


Time passed and I met another guy I liked, and we dated, but misfortune caught me by the neck, again. My new boyfriend couldn’t handle the thought of me not sending nudes. He threatened to leak the few pictures I sent him out of trust. I was terrified and, fearfully, I sent him more. But he never stopped the threats - it went on for months.


My mind was engulfed with dread so I threatened to slit my wrists if he didn’t back down, it was my only way out but he was resilient. I had to coerce him with my life on the line and he only stopped after receiving a picture of my bleeding hand.


I was back to square one. Every passing incident felt like a green light to touch those blades. My grades were at an all-time low so I was forced to see a counselor however, I couldn’t open up to her about my past trauma. I went to school with scars. The only ones visible were self-inflicted. Even then my classmates bullied me. They accused me of doing nasty things. When I stood up for myself, I was called a slut. Every girl who stands up for herself is a slut.


Slowly but eventually, reality began to dawn on me. I was at war with myself and I had to stop. I graduated high school last year and I have been in a better space since. My parents became the pillars of support I desperately needed. I learnt to keep my chin up because no situation in this world is worth self-harm. All it did was leave me with scars that remind me of the dark times I managed to pull through.


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