Summary: Hi, I know this sounds really weird, and you're probably wondering why I'm doing what I do. I'm not the cool, calm and collected guy people say I am. There's more to me that that.

I'm using the English names, kay?

6 years ago.

"Matt? You okay?"

I looked up and into the face of Tai, our so-called fearless leader.

"Yeah, why?"

"Your arm; it's bleeding."

"Huh?" I looked down, and sure enough, it was.

'Shoot,' I thought. "I must've got cut by something," I said.

Yeah, he and the rest are my friends, but I have a problem. I have another friend, Jaimee, but she's the only person who knows that I…

"Matt!"

"What?" I asked irritated.

"Why's your arm bleeding?"Sora asked carefully.

"I just cut it on something."

"It looks pretty serious."

"It's nothing, really."

"Okay, well, at least let me wrap it," and so I went over to her and she took some of Joe's supplies and gently wrapped my arm.

The truth of it is, yeah, I did cut it on something; a knife. My pocket knife to be exact.

And this is where Jaimee would come in and stop me before this would happen.

Flashback

"Matt?" a girl's voice came from the door, knocking furiously against it. "Matt! Let me in!"

My father was at the station as usual. And I, I was cutting myself again.

"Yamatto, you let me in now!"

I quickly put on a long-sleeved black shirt and opened the door.

As soon as I did so, she snatched up my arm I what felt like a death grip; the she took a hold of my hand with the other and let go of my arm, her fingers painted red with my blood.

She rolled up the sleeve and said, "I knew it. Matt, what the hell? Why do you keep doing this?" as she counted several new cuts up and down my arm.

I told her, "It makes me feel better; crying just doesn't cut it anymore. It makes me sure I'm real."

"Matt, one of these days, you're going to go too far and I'll be there for you."

"Thanks."

"Now give me the knife, and we'll go take care of those."

Shakily, I handed her the knife and she led me to the bathroom and brought out the bottle of peroxide.

"Ready?" she asked opening the bottle.

I nodded and took her had just to humor her, then winced when she poured the peroxide onto the cuts and the bubbled and frothed in protest.

Then she took some antiseptic and gauze and she took care of the cuts that I had adorned my arm with.

"Okay, give me the shirt and I'm going to try to get the blood out."

And so, I took off my shirt and she took it and began to scrub out the blood.

I walked to my room and grabbed a clean long-sleeved shirt and threw it on.

"You know, you should tell someone," she called from the bathroom.

"I have."

"I meant someone like your dad; I'm just glad you haven't tried killing yourself."

"Wouldn't try it," I said. "I'd be too scared."

"Well, that's good," she said, coming into my room. "Blood's all out," then she pulled out my knife from her jacket pocket and brushed some dark brown hair out of her sea-green eyes.

"Here," she said and she handed it to me. "Whenever you feel you need to cut, call me and I'll be right over, no matter what. You are going to get over this. And I'm going to be there for you."

End of Flashback.

'So where are you now?' I thought as Sora finished. 'Where are you when I need you? Not with me.'

"I'll be right back," I said as I grabbed a roll.

"Okay."

"But, Matt, what about…" Gobumon started.

"Just stay with the group, I won't be long."

"But…"

"I said stay! I'll be back soon," and I left before he could argue any further.

As soon as I was ought of sight of the group, I ducked down behind a bush and whipped out my pocket knife and opened it. Then I undid the wrapping, which was actually just toilet paper because that's all Joe really has, and I dragged my blade across my arm.

'Just one,' I thought. It just felt so good; It made me know I was real.

'Just one more,' I thought, and when I finally realized it, I had made about a dozen new cuts over the old scars.

In the middle of the thirteenth cut, I heard, "Matt!"

I looked up, the knife still in my arm, at Gobumon, looking scared.

"G-Gobumon, I stuttered, "I-I can explain."

"Matt, why?"

"I don't know. It just makes me feel better."

"How long?"

"Two years, on and off. This is the first time in six months."

"You should tell…"

"I have, but she isn't here."

"Then tell the others."

"No!"

"But…:

"This isn't any of their business," I said re-wrapping my arm.

"All right then," he said.

"Gobumon?" I said, "I want you to keep this from me," and I handed him my pocket knife. "I want to stop."

Gobumon took the knife and just looked at me uncertainly.

"I really do want to stop; keep it and don't give it back until you and I think I've truly stopped."

"All right," he said.

"Thanks," but for some reason, I didn't feel better.

Four years later

He ended up giving it back to me at the end of our adventure. It's been two years since my last cut, but things have been getting out of hand again, so I pulled out my pocket knife and called Jaimee.

"Hello?" she said.

"Jaimee…" I began.

Almost as if she read my thoughts, she said, "Hold on; I'll be right over."

A couple minutes and a few cuts later, she arrived.

"Matt?" she called from the door.

"It's open," I said, slicing through my arm again.

"Oh, Matt," she whispered and she walked over to me and gently took the knife out of my hand.

"It's no good," I said, "I can't stop."

"Yes, you can," she argued. "And I'm going help you get through this."

"Two years ago, you weren't there," I said.

"I wanted to," she replied. "I wanted to so badly."

I guess tears started to come when she helped fix up my arm, because she said, "You okay?"

"I don't know. Everything's almost becoming too much."

"I know; my parents divorced last week and my grandmother died just yesterday. But I'm still here for you."

"So why aren't you crying or something?"

"You need me a little more than I need crying," she said, tears coming to her eyes anyways.

I put an arm on her shoulder, and she fell onto mine and started crying. I hugged her, wishing that crying could relieve my pain.

"Stress is a bitch," I whispered.

She laughed and looked up and wiped her eyes.

"I'm fine," she said.

Then we heard, "Matt?"

"Yeah, Dad?"
"Nothing, I just wanted to see if you were home."

"Okay, I'm going to Tai's house."

"Okay, then, see you later."

"C'mon," I whispered to Jaimee.

"Matt, I'm outside the door. Who are you talking to?"

"I called Jaimee over to help on some homework."

"Yes, and I was just about to leave, Sir," she said and slipped out the door.

"So, I'll see you later," I said and I walked out.

After I shut the door, she said, "You really should tell him. The only reason I didn't was because I felt you should."

"I know, but I'm scared of what he'll do."

"He'll be worried; heck, he's probably worried right now."

"Here, take it," I said, handing her my knife. "Never give it back."

"All right," she said with a trace of uncertainness in her voice. "So, remind me how this all started."

I sighed and then said, "It was about six years ago; I guess I was drying some knives after washing them from cooking supper, and I guess one of hem cut through the towel and into my hand. I pulled the towel away and looked at the blood welling out of the line that streaked across my hand. Surprisingly it didn't hurt; actually, it felt good, so I took the knife and I brought it down my arm," I pointed to the one scar; the only one I had that ran up and down the length of my arm, "It, for some reason, made me feel better and that's how it started."

"How did you cut yourself through a towel?" she asked.

"I don't know," I said, starting to get frustrated.

She nodded and dropped the subject.

"So, how've you been doing?" I asked.

She gave me her look that said, "What the hell do you think?"

"Oh, sorry."

Pretty soon we reached Tai's apartment, and I knocked on the door. His mom answered it.

"Hi, ma'am, may I speak with Tai?"

"Yes, of course," she said, and went to get Tai.

"Yeah? Oh, hey, Matt, what's up?"

"Nothing much," I said, "Look, I need you to tell my dad, if he calls, that I'm here." Jaimee and Tai looked at me incredulously.

"Uh…"

"Just do it."

"All right, then," he said reluctantly.

"I'll see you later."

"Yeah."

"It was nice to see you again, Tai," Jaimee said.

"Yep, you too," and he went back inside and closed the door.

"Matt, what was that for?" she asked me as she followed.

"What?"

"Lying to your father; asking friends to lie for you. If you ask me…"

"Well, no one is!"

She stopped talking. I turned around and saw that I had hurt her.

"Jai, I'm sorry. Look, I…"

"Yeah, whatever; I probably shouldn't have said anything. It's just that you need to tell someone else about this; someone who can actually help."

"You're helping aren't you?"

"No," she said shaking her head, "I'm only preventing. You need some real help; the kind of help I can't give. That doesn't mean that I'm giving up, because I'm not. It's just…"

I went back to her and said, "I know you're trying your best to help."

"It's just not enough anymore. You need to get professional help." She yawned.

"Hey, are you okay?"

"Yeah, but I haven't been sleeping well lately."

"The dreams?"

"Yeah. They seem so real; it's scary."

"What was this one about?"

"Same as always. I'm chasing someone," she closed her eyes and tried to remember the dream clearly, "and they have a knife, dripping blood, and for some reason, I know it's your blood. Then the person runs and turns a corner, but whenever I turn it, the person isn't there, but someone else is lying in the middle of the alley way, blood pooled around them. And as I walk closer, I realize that it's you, dead, and your knife, the same knife the first person had, is in your hand, and I hear someone say, 'If he only had a future, his past would not have come back to haunt him.' Then I'd wake up, nearly screaming, covered in cold sweat."

"Um, okay."

"Matt, I really think you should get some real help now."

"I will," I assured her.

"Before things get too extreme."

"I know; I will."

The next day, in writing class, the teacher gave us a free-writing assignment. She said we could write note to her if anything was bugging us. I thought that this would be the perfect was to ask for help, so I started on it.

And here's what I wrote:

"Hi, I know this sounds really weird, and you're probably wondering why I'm doing what I do. I'm not the cool, calm and collected guy people say I am. There's more to me that that; more to who I am.

There's only person who sees me for what I really am, and she's the greatest friend a guy could ask for. She's loyal and she bails me out of trouble. Only this time, she's tried to help, but she can't bail me out of this one. I'm the only one who can, and yet I haven't been able to.

By now, you're probably wondering what I'm talking about, right. I cut; I've been doing it for the past four years on and off.

I've tried to stop, but I haven't had the will to shake it. But I am going to stop, with the help of my friend.

Ma'am, I want you to do something for me after you get done reading this. Call my father and tell him that there's something wrong with his oldest boy. I want you to show him this paper.

And, Dad, when you finish reading this, I want you to get me some help. I realize now, that I can't shake this alone. My friend's all ready tried, and she fears for my life, Dad; she's had dreams of finding me dead, by committing suicide. I don't want to go that far. I want to shake this; no, I have to shake this. And I'm going to try, and I know I'm not going to be alone. I'll have you and all my friends beside me.

I don't want to end up dead in an alley way, like in my friend's dreams. I want to live and live healthy, both body and mind. But I can't do it alone in the state I'm in now.

I will also give a copy to my friend, Jaimee.

Jaimee, when you're done reading this, give it to Sora, Tai, Joe, Izzy, Kari, e-mail it to Mimi, but especially let T.K. read this.

Guys, minus T.K., don't worry about me; I'm going to be fine. I am going to beat this.

T.K., I'm sorry I couldn't tell you this face to face, but I didn't want you to get worried about me. See, the truth is, I care too much as your brother to let you worry about me.

To all, I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I was afraid you'd all reject me or something. I also didn't want you guys to worry about me, because I thought I could handle it. But the truth is I can't; it's gotten to be too big. I've dug myself too far into it that I can't get myself out.

And finally, to the current reader, don't start cutting; it'll only get too far out of hand and then you'll be in the position I am now, or you could be lucky and stop on your own, but I really doubt that. All I can say now is, pray for me. Keep me in your thoughts and pray I can beat this.

Sincerely,

Yamatto Ishida

When I was done, I handed it into the teacher, who read it right away. I watched as her expression became more grave, and every once in a while, glance up at me and give me this look as if saying, "You really do this?" I simply nodded.

After she got done reading it, she picked up the phone and dialed the T.V. station's number and asked for my father.

Then I handed a copy to Jaimee, and she read it.

"This is deep," she commented. "Wow."

Speechlessness. One state that she's rarely in. So she must have really liked it.

"Tai," she said, as he walked by, "You need to read this. Give it back when you're done."

"Okay," he said and he took it to his desk.

After class the teacher called me up to her desk.

"Yamatto?" the teacher said, "Could I speak with you?"

"Sure," I said and I went to the front of the room.

"Do you mean what you said on your assignment?"

"Yes," I said, "I can't keep this charade up any longer."

"Well, I've set up a session with the school councilor for you and your father."

"Thank you, ma'am," I said and I left.

"Matt," Tai said, as he waited at the door.

"Yes, Tai, look," I said as I took off my green jacket and undid the cuff on my shirt and rolled back the sleeve, revealing one scar running the length of my arm and several dozen smaller cuts cutting through that one.

I showed him my other arm, revealing just as many scars on that one.

"Whoa," he said; then looked up at me.

"Yeah, go ahead," I said, and he slowly and gently ran his finger along the longest one.

"That kinda tickles," I said.

"Oh, sorry."

"No big," and I put my jacket back on.

After school that day, I went to the school councilor's office and when I got there, my father was there, little to my surprise, but I was surprised to see the look on his face.

"Mr. Yazumi, do you have the paper?" I asked.

"Yes, Matt, why?"

"I want my father to read it."

"I already have," Dad said.

"Help me," I begged him. "Then help me."

"I will," he said, hoarsely, "to the best that I can."

"Thank you."

He gave a small laugh. "You are my son; what else am I supposed to do?"

And after a half an hour of talk, he and I left.

As Dad called a specialist, my friends all came, and do did my brother. I didn't ask for any of the younger ones to come, yet Davis, Yolei, Ken, and Cody came anyways.

"I asked them to come," Kari explained, "They need to know too."

I nodded in reply.

"Thanks for coming," I said.

"We want you to explain," Sora said, "For one thing; I don't understand how you could do that to yourself."

"I'll start at the beginning, then," I said and I told them everything; I even showed them the scars that covered my forearms. Then I answered their questions as best as I could.

"Why'd you start?" T.K. asked me.

"Because it made me feel better," I replied.

"You felt better after you inflicted yourself with pain?" Izzy asked.

"Yeah. You know how crying helps most people?"

Izzy nodded.

"Well, that doesn't work for me. I had to find a stronger way to relieve my pain and sorrow. I'm not sure why, but I think it's because I had too much of life and I needed to let off some steam. My dad's calling a specialist for me, because I just can't do ths anymore; I have to stop, but I can't."

"I'll be there for you, like I said before," Jaimee said putting an arm around my shoulders.

"And so will I," Tai said.

And then a chorus of "and me"s and "and I"s came.

"Thanks guys," I said.

Present

It's been two years since my last cut. I still have the scars to remind me of my potentially deadly addiction. The specialist now referred to as a therapist or a psychiatrist, because I've overcome the fear of what other people would think of me, helped a lot. So has the support of my friends. Without them, I'd probably dead now. My friends are the greatest. Tai and Sora are now together, so are T.K. and Kari, despite what Davis thinks the poor delusional dude. I've also found someone, but that's another story.

As I finish writing my new assignment, I think of all the stupid things I've done in my life and laugh, and try to remember why I did them.

I turn the assignment in and leave the class with, well, you'll just have to guess.

The End

So, what do you guys think? I know the whole Matt and the psychological problem has been done several times, but I thought that it was a great topic to write about. You see, there is at least one person everywhere who cuts themselves. And if they don't get help, or don't ask for help, don't be fooled. It could become potentially dangerous, and maybe even escalate to suicide. If you know someone who has this problem, don't hesitate, like Jaimee did, to get that person help. At first that person may or may not like you very much, but they will, in time, learn that you were only helping.

If you can't tell, I have no experience with cutters, nor have I ever tried it. I mean, I've thought about it, but then I think, what's the point? I'd only be hurting the ones I care about, not to mention hurting myself. But I think you probably can tell that I've had no experience with cutters. Only the things I've heard or read or seen on 7th Heaven when there was a cutter in the household, that person was Lucy's friend who was there for a sleep over and Mary caught Lucy's friend using Rev. Camdon's razor blade to cut herself. In the end, Lucy's friend was angry at Lucy, but then she'd come to realize that what Lucy was doing was only to help her.

Okay, now I'm rambling, and well, I hope you review. Not too many flames, but if you must, let me burn. (Okay, that was corny. Why'd I put that? Oh well.)

October 4, 2004, Hi again, it's me, Freedra Kyes. I now realize how addicting cutting can be. And no, I did not use a blade on my wrist, nor did I use anything that could draw blood. I used, believe it or not, my fingernail across the top of my hand. At first I thought it wasn't too big of a deal, but now I realize that cutting is cutting, whether or not you use a knife or a fingernail, and I'm proud to say that I was one of the lucky ones that Matt was talking about and stopped before it escalated to anything too serious. It was about a year ago, but it's still fresh in my mind. I want to warn all of you who are now reading this, take the message seriously. You don't know how many people probably won't, but it's true. In retrospect, the whole nail across my hand thing hurt me more than it helped. And it makes me extremely sad to say that I was once a recent cutter, and also that not only did I hurt myself, I made my parents and classmates worried. Believe me, no cutter wants to worry anyone, but I can't speak for every case. Just trust me when Matt and I say, "Don't start cutting." It could be very well, the one thing to end your life at a time when you aren't exactly supposed to go. In the list that I take very seriously, this is one of the big ones. I want you to consider these following words. Try not to dig yourself into a hole too deep for you to get back out of, whether it be drugs, alcohol, or even cutting, because you may never get back out. Well, there's about nothing more that I can say that hasn't been said. Just listen to the message and let your heart guide you, and let your parents or friends know whether something's bugging you or not. Keep the communication line open no matter what. I hope I hear from you again. This is my revised chapter.

November 29, 2004. Hey again, Freed here, and I'm not a lucky one because I realize now that there is no such thing as a "lucky one". I'm still in it, but i don't cut, just scratch at the top of my hand. I do it everytime I get nervous about something and I'm not proud of it. I don't talk to people very often about what bugs me or not, so, for all you readers, do as I say, not as I do.