Dear Someone,

There's something I haven't said or told anyone.

But I need to say it.

I have been self-harming for three years.

When I was seven, I accidentally spilled a carton of milk. My mother told me that I should just kill her and continue happily living with my dad.

Three years later, she almost died after childbirth. She's not the person she used to be anymore. And I was the one that wanted a sibling.

That's when I started-after realizing that all of this was my fault. I scratched my left forearm, but instead of drawing blood, there was this clear, sticky fluid, which was arguably worse.

I kept doing this for three more years. Recently, I switched from scratching to cutting. It's only small scratches that heal in a day, so they're not as noticeable.

My parents are growing old and tired, and I'm starting to see that they will reach their breaking point when I'm off at college. I don't want my brother growing up thinking that he's a burden. I really don't.