iCan't Help it

Summary: Sam needs help and knows it but she doesn't know what to do. She can't ask Carly and definitely not Freddie. How does she deal with it? Sam's P.O.V.

Dark/Sensitive T Sam P.

Disclaimer: I do not own iCarly or any of the characters, well, except for Janie and the plot.

A/N: Set before iKiss but includes other people from later episodes. Also, Sam's dad is alive and in this so deal with it. And Missy and Valerie are in this too and they're nice. And Melanie is mentioned but as this is Sam's P.O.V, she can be. Also, let's pretend that Carly knows Freddie likes her but he isn't always asking her out, okay? Thanks. See u the end! :D

Based on a True Story

My name is Sam Puckett and yada yada yada. And I know I need help. I deny that though, even to myself. My best friend is Carly Shay, a beautiful brunette with dark brown eyes. She gets all the guys and when I get guys, they use me to get to Carly, or they don't like me for some reason. Probably because I'm too violent. I mean, c'mon, I hit at least one person everyday without a reason. And then there's Freddie Benson, another brunette with brown eyes. He's another friend. And currently dating Carly. And me? I'm the confused, blonde headed demon with blue eyes. Oh, did I mention I cut myself? No. I know I didn't but I do. Let me explain.

My two best friends, Carly and Freddie, started dating recently and before you start thinking I cut myself because of that, no, I cut myself way before that. It started with my grandfather. And no, this isn't a lesson on where babies come from either so get that idea outta your head.

My grandfather died 2 months ago from cancer. He had cancer in his throat and was given a tracheostomy, which, in case you didn't know, is a little tube which allows you to breathe and is surgically put into your throat. In the meantime, he was undergoing chemotherapy and radiotherapy the whole time. The tracheostomy didn't help so it was taken out and the doctors found that the cancer was in his voice box and so he underwent surgery to remove it, thus condemning him to a lifetime of speechlessness. He had to use a thing similar to a whiteboard to communicate. It made me sad every time I went to visit him with Mom, Dad and Melanie. Everything seemed fine although the doctors were worried about the cancer coming back.

Unfortunately, it did. My grandpa started having pains in his legs and, after a scan; we found out that the cancer had come back, this time in his bones. This is about the time I started cutting myself. At first it was just occasionally but it's been getting more and more frequent. I believed, even though I would tell myself it wasn't true, that by cutting myself it could take the pain away from my grandpa. Of course, bone cancer isn't treatable and no matter how many cuts I made, it wouldn't fix it. I knew this but I didn't care. I kept cutting.

My grandfather died a few months later, 2 months ago actually, a little under. When I found out he'd died, I cried for a while, maybe ten minutes. Not long at all really, which made me feel guilty and cut myself. For the next week, I walked around, encased in a shell through which no-one could touch me. I didn't feel anything, not sadness, happiness or even hunger. I didn't eat. I was never hungry. The cutting became more frequent.

I attended the funeral that Friday. That was when I cried. I tried not to, I tried to be the strong Puckett I normally was, but I couldn't. It's not like me to cry. Crying is for the weak and that is something I'm not, although, I have my doubts. I looked to my Dad for support but saw him crying for the loss of his dad. It must have been hard; having to organize the funeral and see Grandpa sick only 2 years after Dad's mother's death. I couldn't bare it. My dad was the one I always looked to for strength and stability and seeing him like that just shattered me. I cried. At the Wake, I helped Melanie and my cousins with the food. I cried little then, trying to redeem myself. That night though, I cut myself again. Much more cutting.

Even though I got over my grandfather's death about 2 weeks after he died, I still cut myself. Once I cut myself at school. That was a mistake. Carly stole my scissors and gave them to Wendy for safekeeping. Got them back easily enough and tried to cut myself again, this time however, Freddie stole them and cleverly put his finger between the blades so that if I tried to steal them, I'd cut him. That upset me. That night, I cut myself. I cut myself almost daily now, marking it on my calendar so I know. I tell no-one though.

A few weeks before Carly and Freddie were going out; I thought I had a tiny crush on Freddie – golly! What was I thinking?! Wait, who says golly? Anyways, I realised later that we were just friends and that's all we ever would be. I'm nearly 15, never been kissed and only had one boyfriend, although, seeing as its Jonah, he really doesn't count. So really, I've never had a boyfriend. It's pretty sad in this day and age. So I cut myself.

Then, on the last day of term, we played Truth or Dare during the End of Term party. We all said who we liked, well, except for me. Because I still wasn't sure about my feelings for Freddie and I knew that my friend, Janie, liked Freddie too. Janie is a really nice girl. Sometimes sickeningly nice. She cannot frown. She's always smiling. She too is blonde with blue eyes, however, her hair is straight and always in a ponytail. She also has copper streaks in her hair. But anyway, I didn't say anything. And then Valerie said that she liked Freddie and when I said that I didn't know who I liked, she turned to me and said, "I don't think you actually like anyone, I think you like the idea of having a boyfriend and so you flirt." That hurt. That cut deep, deeper than the cuts I made on myself. I believed her and I cut myself.

Now I can't get it out of my head. I think it's true. So now I feel like the world's biggest flirty skank and that was when I realised that all Freddie and I would ever be was friends, nothing more. I could hope and I could daydream, but daydreams hurt because when they end, reality hurts. So I try not to daydream. But sometimes I can't help it. Then it hurts because I know it'll never happen. So I cut myself.

Later, I was being depressive in science and playing with Carly's scissors, she didn't even realise they were hers until I said it. I wasn't cutting myself; I was just running my fingers lightly along the blades. Carly snatched them away – she still hasn't realised that by snatching them when I do this, she is more likely to cut me than I am. Anyways, Valerie pulled me to one side and told me that she was depressed too, but she didn't cut herself, she scratched herself with her nails. On her arms, legs, back, anywhere. That gave me an idea. Also, I was talking to Freddie on MSN and he was threatening me and saying that he'd cut his stomach. I told him not to. Later that night, I cut myself everywhere, my legs, neck, arms, hands and stomach. The ones that were on my arms and stomach were the only ones that stayed so those are the only places I cut myself now. Carly checks me for cuts on my arms but she doesn't feel for them. You can feel them. And when I use the concealer, she doesn't notice. She gives me a smile that seems to say, 'good girl.' I feel bad about lying and cut myself again.

I am on MSN talking to Freddie and Carly a lot. Also, I talk to Wendy on there too. With Wendy, I talk mainly about happy things. To Carly, I talk about a lot of stuff and more often than not, I threaten her with hurting myself, which I end up doing anyway, When I talk to Freddie on MSN though, it's mostly depressing. It's like I rely on him and sometimes I feel like I rely on him too much. It's as if I am constantly hoping that he'll be on so I can talk to him but the he'll go and I'll feel sad even though I don't like him but because I can talk to him and he helps me somewhat. Most of the time though, after talking to Freddie, I cut myself because he has a method where he tries to make me stop cutting myself by threatening to hurt himself. He knows I hate it but I can't stop. What he says only makes me cut myself more. And it hurts, not the cuts, they just sting a little, but the fact that I know I'm hurting him even though I say that he doesn't care about me, that no-one cares. I know it's a lie but I can't help it.

I played a part in getting Carly and Freddie together. I was talking to her on MSN and she told me what had happened earlier that day, her friend Missy had texted Freddie telling him to ask her out already. He was at Shane's house with no reception and, in desperation, he used a tent pole to get signal to call her and ask her out. He chickened out and told me about it the next day when he had a holiday AV club meeting and I had a holiday detention. I thought it was kinda cute, although I hate to admit it. The next night on MSN, Carly told me she'd talked to Janie and that it was fine if Carly went out with Freddie. I felt like a double-crosser but I told Freddie our conversation and that Carly said yes, she'd go out with him. He was so happy it made me smile, but only for a little while because I felt sad that I could never feel that kind of happiness. Even though I was happy for them both that night, I cut myself.

The next day, Freddie called Carly and asked her out. She said yes. I talked to Freddie on MSN and I felt happy for him but, at the same time, I felt all hopeless and depressed for no apparent reason. Don't get me wrong, I don't like Freddie that way and I am convinced that what Valerie said is true. I really am. But even if I did like Freddork, I wouldn't say a word because I want Carly to be happy, and, yes, Freddie too. So I cut myself again.

When I cut myself, it isn't like slicing. More like hacking. My scissors are blunt but I have a sharper pair which I'm starting to break in. My arms never really bleed, just the occasional blood spots here and there. The cuts are visible and I have to wear long-sleeved shirts or jumpers to cover them from the world, however, once, I did go to school after I'd cut myself. The cuts were clear and so I used some concealer to cover them up. It was a pretty bad job but no-one noticed, even though I waved my arms around, exposing them. It was like I wanted someone to see the cuts. As if I liked the attention. But no-one knew. The cuts are just like thin lines of pinky red. They are clearly cuts but not deep ones, which disappoints me; I want to bleed more. Yes, I'm masochistic.

One of the worst things about my cutting obsession is the pain. Not from the cutting but afterwards. The sting left there. The way it stings when I have a shower when the hot water hits it. It makes me wince. Not that I like to admit that though. Another thing is the fact that I am hurting my friends, (not my family because they have no idea, they're clueless). There is a more major problem though. I can't stop. I know I'm hurting Carly and, somehow, Freddie, but doing this but I can't stop, no matter how much they ask me, no matter how much they plead and beg. Sometimes I want to but I can't. The scissors have become like a life preserver, a security blanket. Somehow, I feel safe when I have them. It's weird but true, so true. I can't stop, it's like I have OCD. I just can't not do it.

"Sam, please don't."

"Sam, please be a good girl."

"Sam no! Don't cut yourself."

They say, everyday they say it but I can't stop. I know I'm hurting them but I can't stop now, maybe not ever. I just can't.

I can't help it.

A/N: So, how was it? Good? Bad? Please review! Also, I know that everything here to do with cancer is correct because, even though I'm only 14, I have seen a lot of people suffering with cancer and I know what it's like to lose someone with it. My condolences to anyone who has gone through that recently, I know what it's like. So please, do not correct me as I know that this information is right. Thanks. Also, I discourage self-harm. Self-harm is not the answer to everything and if you feel like doing it, talk to someone, a friend, family member or counsellor. It's not something to joke about. Thanks.

u!

MJ-obsessed95.x

P.S. Please review!