Okay, I've been searching for help. I have a problem. Let me start from the beginning.
My eldest brother suffers from cerebral palsy, and my entire childhood- my mom did not stay with me (parents are not separated) and my dad isn't exactly the loving type.
I have been a liar (without meaning to) from my childhood, and I have been sexually abused when I was a child (it didn't feel like an abuse, though)
Growing up, my elder brother (another one) kept dominating me or comparing me with my cousin brother who stayed with us. My brother would even force me to do things I didn't want to. He literally used to twist my arms.
Slowly, I feigned love for him. It happened on it's own. I actually believed myself. I knew I found him irritating and unwanted but still I respected him.
The somewhere around highschool, I got into a relationship and got cheated on. Yes, it was my first love.
It hurt. I was in a boarding school, I felt alone but never cried. I tried to take my life for reasons I can't remember. That phase of my life is a blur.
I thought everything would be okay.
It didn't.
My dad took me to a therapist, but my mom felt I was possessed by a spirit.
I'm 16 now, but I still haven't rebelled or gone against my parents.
Anyway, I never met the therapist again but I had to take part in rituals and what not.
Back to my brother, he manipulated me and made me look bad in front of my parents.
Being the weak, submissive sister I was, my parents never thought it was my fault.
Moving forward, he even made me lift up my shirt because he wanted to see my body type. I was obsessed with losing weight, I was dumb, I did it.
Now he would hug me weirdly and said I never hugged him properly. It sounds funny but he said my butt was too outwards, it should be inwards towards the person I was hugging.
Now, back to my elder brother, I know that he is suffering. But he does so many things to get attention. Shouts, screams, cries all day long. I'm suspecting that he even feigns illness. It isn't that we don't love him, we do. We do everything he asks, but still...
My father has never been affectionate. But he has always been there for me. We're good friends.
My mom, I don't know. She always makes me feel that marrying dad was a mistake. We're good friends, but... I feel trapped. Everything I do has to be under her.
I can't do anything on my own.
I feel suffocated.
So, around five months ago, my elder brother died. He was an alcoholic. He hit me, we fought. I never spoke to him again. I guess, I never will. I hadn't seen his face for a week or so, and when I did... I knew it was lifeless but it didn't look that way. I can't accept what happened. I'm angry that I couldn't be angry at him anymore. I don't know.
Now, I'm rude to people. My teachers say that I have lost that shine. My writing suddenly improved. I can laugh but still I feel different. None of my friends talk to me. I only have online friends.
I feel so alone.
Sadly, I think I like it that way.

I have been confused all my life.. like several others... But recently.. I just can not take it any more...
Well.. Most of the time its just- who am I, WHY AM i, WHere AM I... Whats going on..?? What is this place.. this world..?? I must be a human being by this wolrds semiotic system.. i have two hands, head, eyes, etc.. what all other creatures considered as humans have... and there is such life around us.. what we live.. with rules... with manners... how things are supposed to be... well.. it doesnt make much sense to me... i am able to follow this worlds orders on my better moments.. but sometimes im just like- why, wtf?? Why should i..
Sometimes again I live normal life.. according to this world... I can pretend like normal human being.. i can even forget for some time... my confusion.. but it comes back...
I have had moments of horror... When I am afraid of everything.. I can sit in a corner of a room, my back against a wall... or go under blanket.. hide there... from the world... to calm down...
Then I have moments of emptyness... when i think.. that not even moving my hand.. inhaling.. its not worth it.. as there is no point... whats the point to eat, to walk.. to put one lef in front of another.. to move on.. what for? why to buy a new computer, why to go to work.. why to study? why to function in this world...
im not sad... i dont care... i dont know... i dont see the point...
i do care about others suffering.. i care about sad and heartbroken or lonely people, sick people in pain, hungry animals.. etc... but what can i do for them? nothing.. i cant help myself...
i have started to avoid people and social events.. its not that i can not enjoy them.. i dont know how to even behave there... they dance and drink and talk.. but im thinking- whats the point?
I can still enjoy some emotional movies or books.. they get me off my confusion.. but real life.. not any more..
i used to have some good friends and we had fun.. we were traveling and doing things together...
now i want to be alone.. hide from worls and people...
i used to feel like in Robbie Williams song-
I dont wanna die, but I aint keen on living either...
but now Im feeling...
I dont want to live this world and this life, but Im afraid of death too...

So, I dont really know what to do... I can not die, I can not live.. Im just a empty soul... somewhere... somehow...

Hello, I'm a cutter...

Why do I cut? What turned me into a self hater who scars his body and often wants to die?

I'm a 44 year old man who has seen his world fall apart two years ago. I was seriously injured on the job to the point of full disability. I can no longer do the job I lived to do, which was Police work. Add to that the fact that I suffer horrific pain everyday due to my back injury. I have crushed a total of 9 discs in my upper, middle and lower back and have to use a cane to walk.

Not only do I have permanent nerve damage, but as a result I lost function of my bladder and need to urinate with a catheter and a leg bag. I have had several surgeries to include a two level cervical fusion, an interstim implant for my bladder and a Morphine drug pump implant. Despite these surgeries, the Morphine pump and oral pain meds I am still in a great deal of pain all day and night; awake and sleeping. I still have a few more surgeries I must endure in the next year. This physical pain alone is one reason why I cut myself.

Since I don't have any control of the constant pain related to my back injury I at least have control over the pain I endure when I cut myself. I don't scratch myself...when I cut I cut deep and I have scars over 70% of my body. I often cut out of anger or frustration, because I lost my passion for life when I lost my career as a Police Officer. It's extremely difficult to go from being physically able to chase bad guys, make arrests and help others to someone who can barely walk and is in constant pain.

Over the past two years I have gone from a mentally confident and competent person to a mental basket case. Now I must say that prior to my career ending injury I suffered from PTSD and bouts of depression related to my Police experiences while employed by NYPD during 9-11 and survivor's guilt. Also, growing up I would from time to time cut myself. Oh yeah and when I was 13 years old I slit my wrist and OD on medication in an attempt to end my life. It was really tough covering up the huge ass scar on my wrist, especially while applying for work as a Police Officer. I don't regret the scar, I regret the fact that I lived. Looking back I guess there have been many times where I was in harms way and could of, should have died, but didn't. This happened more often of course during my Ten years of Police work. Looking back now I can honestly say that I wanted to be a Police Officer so I could die. Had you asked me while I was still working as a Police Officer I would have said it was so I could help people and save lives.

Anyways, I now suffer from a whole host of mental disorders, such as Major Depressive Disorder, BiPolar Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, PTSD and a couple of other disorders that escape me at this time. I'm taking a handful of medication daily in the hopes of controlling my mental and physical pain.

It's not working, I can't sleep and the urges to cut keep getting stronger. I also envision me cutting my own throat with a knife. I can be sitting on the couch watching a TV show and out of no where I see it...I see the knife in my hand held to my throat. I wonder, is this how I am supposed to die? I always hoped it would be via lead poison ( aka a bullet). No matter, I keep cutting and my wife sees the cuts and scars and naturally freaks out. I'm putting her through hell and that just adds to my anxiety and frustration that often boils over and results in even more cutting! I wish I could post pictures so you can see my scars and know that this is for real. I'm living a nightmare and I'm ashamed of myself for being so weak. Two years ago I was a decent role model for other Officers and the community I lived to protect and serve. Now...now I am suicidal and spend most of my time at home, in pain and alone.

The urges are becoming too great and I'm fast losing any control. My cuts are becoming deeper and deeper. How can I cut out the ugly side of me when...

[ Continued ]

----Every new day can change one's life; Every new experience can deepen the realm within ones world. These notions run parallel, to the story of Johnny and The Cupcake Girl----

(Character Background. If looking for eroticism, skip to next chapters.)

Prelude: Aromatic Cupcakes

The sun was beaming through the cracks of the curtains - Johnny woke up, always curious as to what the day would entail. Getting ready for work at the store was a very systematic process for him. Every slight movement, down to the way he dried off his vascular body after a steaming shower, was replicated with exact precision.

Coffee and cigarettes. The fix of the morning, yet today they seemed ever so weak. Bitter sensations on the tongue - Johnny needing something new.. Something sweet.

His inner world was intense. Always maneuvering, always watching - ever changing. Those simpletons who he sped by on the inter-state know no sensation similar to the ones concocted by Johnny's dis-inhibited mind.

Many are curious, but few truly venture. Today was the day, like so many before, that one curious, light-hearted being, would accept any contingencies within coffee shop: The Cupcake Girl. After all, what was life for the young girl without knowledge of the unknown? She was so full of life, full of energy, but being virgin to many experience which she knew exist, felt like a ghost on a winding path.. She was so confused about the world.. People and their intentions.. What she wanted.. What she stood for.. The Cupcake Girl needed something stable - Something definite. Something, to hold on to.

Unbeknownst to the depths of the labyrinth, The Cupcake Girl took the leap of faith that was so intrinsic to her nature, and necessary to develop her ever curious mind regarding that of which she had no experience.

Her name was Pricilla. And she smelled exactly like she looked.

From what I have been told, I was talking and walking by 9 months old. Perhaps it is an exaggeration, but I can attest to the ease I have experienced in school, with dealing with problems, and assessing the “right” behavior in situations.

I have had one imaginary friend, from what I can remember, since I was about two years old. I remember when he first knocked on the door, a back door with a mud room in my house, and I let him in. I would tease my Dad that he was my boy friend. He kept me wonderful company and was an enlightening, safe harbor. I remember another time when someone entered through this same door. I remember that I was handed a stuffed animal by this man, but I cannot recall any more.

When I was seven, I remember feeling sure that I could survive on my own, if only my parents would let me alone. In kindergarten, I could read chapter books and would forge my mother’s signature on the homework list each week. I remember wanting the independence from my mother to moderate my own life.

My favorite thing to do at that time was read. I had a children’s encyclopedia and learned about sexual reproduction in this fashion. I discovered an obsession with looking at Michael Angelo’s “David” sculpture. I would sit and look at it for different durations each day.

Between seven and nine, my parents split up (though, I had suspected it for over a year). At this time I began having very sexual, very vivid dreams. One dream I remember was of my self in a hotel room, seducing a much older, ugly man. I believe between six and seven I was sexually abused again, by the same close friend of my family that had been in my life much earlier, and that I had let into my home through the mud room door. I cannot remember it happening, but I have returned to a certain event when I remember I was alone with this person, and there are blank spots in my memory.

I started touching my self with my dolls or stuffed animals around this time, I don’t really understand why. I would “tell” my sister’s fortune by looking into my crystal ball. Around the same time I stopped feeling normal. When I saw myself in the mirror, I felt an intense, unnatural feeling. It was almost disgust. It increased when I had on feminine clothing. I still feel it, sometimes seemingly random and sometimes by noticeable triggers, to this day.

When I was nine, I realized that my father was not scary. I saw that he would raise his voice to intimidate me- and, I saw that it was just that- and that I was capable of it too. This led me to a strange relationship with aggression. I began to “dominate” my siblings, feel an anger that was confusing and overwhelming. I felt as if something in me was red fire hot, and I had no control over it, nor the ability to stop it, nor the knowledge of how it started. I felt like a victim while I victimized other people. And still, though less frequently and with more control to mask it, I have this sensation of being a puppet. At this time I also began trying to study witch craft and wanted to be a vampire. I would mediate and attempt to make spells.

By the time I was eleven, I was not only participating in on-line sex and wishing to be kissed by a boy at school, but I was finding attendance at school more difficult, as well as having increased bouts with anxiety and depression. This only worsened as I got older. And by fourteen, I was full blown suicidal. My parents attempted to get me help, but the doctors, therapists, teachers, and medication were so easily manipulated that no one could touch me.

I would get into these crazed, raging fits of frustration and aggression. I would yell, scream, shake, cry, weep, sob; I was frightening. I started “cutting” which was mostly scratching. I started messing around with older guys. I started lying and going out and trying to drink/party as much as possible. When my father would have a chance to sit and talk to me, he would try to hug me, but I would yell insults until he would give up. I remember ...

[ Continued ]