The first time I was hospitalized was ninth grade, I was as depressed as ever, I would come to school, didn't say a word, slept in class and was failing which was a shock to everyone around me because I had always done well at school, and then I'd get home, fight with my mother and then start the day all over again. I would cut several times a day, when I woke up, right when I left for school, on the bus, inbetween classes, at lunch, at home after the fight. I always always always had a razor on me and some paper towels. I was a mess.
Anyways, I skipped class and got In school Suspension, I was doing good though (with cutting) I was keeping it on the upper part of my arm, so I was able to wear short sleeves, but there were a few scars on my forearm. The ISS teacher saw it and tried to talk to me, I continued doing my schoolwork and ignored her. She told me that I could come talk to her whenever I needed to. I blew that off, was like yeah right, why would I need to talk? But I didn't say that, of course. Months went by and things kept getting worse and worse and my mother and I had got in a bigger fight, my razors were gone and one day I went to her office. Said, "Hey, I'm sorry for coming but I want to cut so bad. I don't know what to do." I cracked. Spilled everything I kept inside. Soon after one of the school cops came in and they took me upstairs to her office. I was shaking I was so nervous and the teacher looked at me and put her hand on top of mine to try and stop the shaking and looked at me and said "Heather, can you promise me that you won't hurt yourself tonight?" I said no.
They had another cop pull up, they put me in the car and took me to a short-time hospital called Park Place, I was there for 8 days. Truthfully, I loved it there, I was comfortable there, and felt safe, which was completely different from my home. When they released me, I went home for a week and then came crashing down again, when back to the same teacher and they put me back. Second time was 16 days.
After that my step-dad couldn't take it anymore and fought for custody. He won.
I survived day to day until the beginning of this year. I was falling back into I was and was seeing a counselor. I came in one day and showed her a notebook with exactly what I felt. She looked at me and asked if I needed to go back to the hospital,I looked down, couldn't look at her. She asked me to show her my arms, I did, they were covered. Scars that still haunt my arms. When I first started cutting I was like you, I swore I wouldn't let it get too far, and for a good two years it didn't. I cut and it would be gone in a couple days, nothing lasted. All the cuts were shallow then, always. Eventually I just kept going deeper, the shallow cuts didn't give me the relief that I needed, they didn't calm me. The inside of both of my arms are now covered in scars 6 years after I first picked up a razor, most that have just recently started to blend into the skin. Before they were raised and pinkish, and now even the shallow cuts leave scars.
The counselor called my dad and he drove me to another hospital. Again, I felt safe, and since then haven't felt the need to go back.
You seem to be at the same place I was, so please, if you feel you need to go, then go.
Honestly, if you can find a treatment program and if your insurance will take it, I'd go with that, they have more imformation for you. They would be able to help you more.
Hun, hang in there, okay?
(Sorry for writing so much)