Kendall

The familiar pain lasts only for a moment, and then I feel the warm liquid ooze down my arm. My eyes are closed, I don't want to see the blood it makes me sick.

That's something isn't it? A cutter who cannot stand the sight of blood. Well that's me, Kendall Durbin.

So what happened to me? What made me turn to cutting? Was my home life terrible? I might feel terrible inside, but My Aunt Jade and her husband Thomas are very generous to me. They have a sweet-as-could-be infant daughter, Essie that is in the next room, sleeping soundlessly, dreaming of whatever babies dream of.

Was I bullied at school? No, I'm pretty much ignored. Few people bother to try and talk to me except one girl who I am paired up with in Biology II. Everyone knows my story, so they shy away from me.

So the reason? My parents and my older brother died a few months ago. First, my mom died. She was a police officer and died in a shoot out. On the way to her funeral, my dad got in a wreck and died instantly and so did my brother, while I was just knocked unconscious for a few hours. That night, I was sent to live with my only reliable relatives that would take me in,Aunt Jade and Uncle Thomas,which made me feel like a burden to the then pregnant Aunt Jade. She was just beginning her life as a newlywed with a baby on the way when her sister's daughter had to move in and ruin her happy lifestyle.

Living here isn't horrible though, but it wasn't home and nothing could beat home. The first few months Aunt Jade would be cautious as to what she would say and how she would say it. Uncle Thomas wasn't sure how to approach me, although he never has known.

Those first few months passed in a blur. The one thing I remember is waking up one day and my waist long hair was now barely covering my ears. That's when my aunt would really start to worry. Everyday she would ask me to talk and if I was coping with it all. According to her, a "dramatic change in appearance" is the beginning of suicidal behavior.

I didn't see what the big deal was, all I did was cut my hair. People cut their hair all the time. We all had to have our first haircut once, right? Or maybe I didn't cut it,maybe someone else did it, like I said, those past months were a blur to me. Then eventually, I had to put on a show, act like I was happy, when I was really dying inside.

My guardians might have thought I was truly happy, but the faculty at school could see the depression in my eyes. I'm called in at least twice a week to the counselor's office for a "check up". I lie, say I'm doing okay. Rarely I will make up an excuse like to indicate I wasn't up to par to try and trick them into thinking I was functioning like a normal person with normal ups and downs in life.

Three months after I moved in with my aunt, was the first time cutting myself even crossed my mind. The thought surfaced when I was in Mr. Porter's( the guidance counselor) office. He was telling me about how he was glad I was starting to talk a little more and interact more in class. He brought up how he was afraid I would go down the path of suicide,or be rebellious, or start to cut myself.

That day when I got home, I picked up a safety pin and pricked my finger. The tiny prick from the pin made me recoil, but as the days went buy, I would poke myself with it until it didn't bother me,weeks went buy and I moved on and I would pick the skin off my lip and start cut make little cuts on my arm instead of tiny pricks on my finger, and as the months went buy, I used anything; scissors, knives,razor blades, and that is how I ended up where I am now.

I toss my scissors on the floor and reach for the rag next to me. I press it to my arm trying to get the blood to stop flowing. I start to feel the normal wave of nausea wash over me. I breathe in deeply and try and blow cool air on my face.

After a moment, I pull the rag away from my arm and take in another deep breath. The bleeding stopped,but now I have another scar to add on to the disfigured canvas that is my body. I grab the antibacterial medicine and rub it on the new cut and on the fresher ones. I look for band-aids only to discover that we don't have any. I make a mental note to get some tomorrow after school.

I make sure I take care of my cuts, the last thing I need is a bunch of infected cuts on me.

I stand and catch a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror. The moonlight streaming in from the window makes me appear paler than I am. I can see the dark circles under my eyes. I sometimes look at myself and see the old me with my long silky black hair tucked behind my ears. I used to always have a smile on my face,but now I'm always giving people these fake "I'm not happy can you tell or am I a really good actress?" smiles. I've also lost weight recently. I was a healthy size 4, now a sickly size 1.

My eyes start to sting. I look just like my mom. Quickly, I avert my eyes to the scars on my arm. The nausea has subsided and I take in deep breaths to keep it from returning fully.

I roll the sleeve down after a swift observation of my arm and unlock the bathroom door. On the way to my room, I tip-toe passed baby Essie's room. I can see her smiling in her sleep and watch the smile slowly fade away. I hope she can grow up and have a happy life,one far less complicating and troubling as mine. I hope she never becomes like her older cousin.

As I fall onto my bed, I remember what made me get up in the middle of the night to slice open my arm. I had a dream about the accident.

The rain pounded on the windows; it was the only sound in the car. We all kept silent and didn't dare to steal a quick glance at the other. My dad and older brother Kevin were in the front seat and I sat sitting in the back. The next thing I knew, the car was flipping and I was screaming. The car seemed to roll forever before it finally to a stop right side up. "Dad?" I whimpered.

I received no answer."Kevin." I cried. I had an intense pain on the back of my head. I touched the knot forming on my head and pulled it back to see the bright red liquid fall down my hand.

Then I saw my brother and my dad standing outside the car. They were transparent and I realized they were dead and the versions of them outside were their ghosts or spirits or whatever. They waved a farewell to me and disappeared. "No," I mumbled losing consciousness."Don't.... go..."

That's when I woke up crying and made my way to the bathroom.

My eyes feel heavy. I let them close and finally fall asleep to a blissful dreamless slumber.