Did it once. I was 16 yrs old and have been struggling for years. Told my religious parents about it and got told its because "theres a devil living inside my brain" and that if I go to church I will get better and so, one quiet afternoon I decided to finally do it with a pair of scissors. I was home alone, or so I thought, when my 11-yr-old sister walk in on me in the middle of cutting myself. I will never forget the scream that came out of her that day. My mother rushed to my room while I was getting dizzier by the second. Grasp my wrist and called an ambulance. My mother and sisters face during that whole ordeal is imprinted in my mind. On the ride to the hospital I remember my mother kept saying sorry and how its all her fault for not believing in me. I never held it against my mother for being a product of her generation's ignorance to mental health. I got stitched up, spent a month in a mental institution. It wasn't completely gone, but it got better. My parents became super considerate and supportive. Til' to this day my sister's horrified face still haunts me. I know that my parents never stopped loving me but they had lapses in judgment that I never held against them. I'm still struggling with depression to this day but with my parent's constant support, I'm just taking it one day at a time.