My name is Stephanie and I'm a cutter
I've sat around a few conversations where people talked in hushed and awwwed voices about the mysterious cutters of the world. It's really a lot more common than you think. I mean, some people are really severe with it, and I am not. No need to freak out or worry - the only thing I take blades to now is my hair. My poor hair. This is how it goes. I get really stressed out and I need some relief so I grab scissors and start chopping. I don't care what it looks like, I just like to see the chunks of hair in the trash can and the sink and all over the counter. The pretty blonde strands floating around and trickling down. Snip, snip, snip, snip....over and over until I feel better. I've done it long enough that my hair looks ok afterwards. Built up feelings of some sort and that's what helps you to not think about it or to get past it. I haven't done it in a long time until the other day. People keep telling me my hair looks good and I try to explain to them that it was in a ponytail and I ripped down a chunk and just chopped it, and then repeated again and again, and that I'm lucky it doesn't look bad. Lucky because that is not the way normal people deal with stress.