Just a Little Bit Deeper

Mom found out. Of course she did. I knew she would. It took her a year, almost two, too figure it out. I remember that day too. I was getting ready for school that day. Oh, my style changed so much in that one year. Skirts to jeans. Pink to black or the occasional red or blue. Nike to converse. A small dab of pink eye shadow to a dark smudge of eyeliner. All this, and I was only eleven.

Since that first time, I'd only cut three more times. Each time as my mom and step dad were fighting. Each time I tested myself, pushing a bit deeper. Each time, remembering some other painful memory, just so I could continue to feel that amazing sting. I'd remember what it was like to find out my mom had a heart attack, the day my best friend for life moved, the names and words made to hurt that were always yelled at me. Anything, just so I could convince myself I needed more.

The day mom saw my scars, I was heading out the door for school. She called my name and held out my sweater that I never went out of the house without. I was in such a hurry, I forgot I didn't even have those stupid bracelets on. Another mistake I made, was reaching for the sweater with the hand that had the scars on it. Mom grabbed my arm suddenly and yelled, "I knew it."

I started stuttering things, "Its not that. I'm sorry. I didn't know what else to do. You would never listen." So on and so forth. Mom just told me to get to school and that when I got home we were going to talk and figure out what to do.

The whole day I was anxious. I had told my best friend at the time that I had gotten caught. I didn't much talk to her the rest of the day. I kept to myself, passing through the day like a ghost. What happened when I got home wasn't as bad as I had thought it would be. Mom broke down crying, making me feel bad. She decided to start sending me to see a therapist again.

Therapy helped a bit, but not much. I didn't cut, but only because mom promised not to tell dad and told me that if I cut again I'd be sent to a mental hospital. I kept that promise for a year, year and a half. I didn't cut, but fire became my best friend.