When I was younger I would always say that I would never cut or burn myself. I would never attempt to kill myself, never do drugs, drink, or smoke even one cigarette.

I can still remember the first time I attempted to cut myself. I used a dull scissors. It made a scratch, nothing deep. Afterwards, I told my mother. I think one of the things that hurt the most is she didn't really react. I feel as if she let it go, like she didn't honestly care.

After that, I started cutting with a razor. First it was on my wrists then on my thighs. For awhile, I would tell my Mom but then I stopped because I didn't feel as if she really cared.

I can't exactly remember when I started burning... I guess the razor wasn't enough so I grabbed a lighter and burned my leg. It got to the point where I didn't even flinch when the heat hit my skin.

At first, cutting and burning was just a way to relieve my pain. It was never suicide related. I didn't really have suicide intentions at that time.

I attempted suicide my sophomore year after my birthday. I had been sending pictures to a guy I liked. We had had sex and I had told someone that I thought I could trust. It turns out that I couldn't trust them. They told someone else and it just escalated from there. The guy threatened to post all the pictures online and hearing that, I snapped. I went home that day, saying I felt sick.

From there everything went downhill. I cut and burned over and over again. Then I found a bunch of over the counter drugs, like ibuprofen, and took them...

After I realized what I had done, I went down to my mom's work and I told her. That night I was put into a youth hospital, or whatever you want to call it. I can't really say it helped me any. They just put me on abilify and sent me on my way.

I've cut quite a bit since then, not really "rehabbed". I don't think I've thought of suicide again, but it's always lurking in the back of my mind.

Looking back, I can see what caused this up and down roller coaster. During the summer of my seventh grade year, my father and I had gotten into a huge fight. It killed me because my father and I had been close. I was a major daddy's girl. I always wanted to be with him. I'd go everywhere with him, even to work. I'd always be by his side, riding in the tractor with him, riding in the dump trucks. The fact that I had lost that crushed me.

That relationship with my father will never be the same. I have learned what he truly was, what he had done in the past, and I can't ever forgive him for some of the things he has done. I will always love him and he will always be my daddy but we will never be as close as we once were. The damage we have caused each other is irreparable. And I've accepted that.

I think that the loss of that relationship is one of the major factors in my depression and bipolar disorder. It has caused me to lash out, to try to find love in all the wrong places.

One of the things I have learned through all of this is that you're not alone in the way you feel. I hate when people say it gets better, because how the hell do they know? But coming from someone who has gone through the same thing you have, it really does get better. Nothing will ever be perfect. You'll have your days. But everyone does. Don't beat yourself up for all the times you fuck up and slip, cutting or burning another scar in your skin. Just realize that you did it and let yourself grow stronger and learn from that.

#iknowJenny