The First Time
Only about two years ago, it's crazy to think that it's only been that long. That's when I first heard about cutting. I didn't understand it, I didn't know people did it, and I didn't even know it was real.
We were learning about it in my psychology class, and I have to admit, I half didn't believe the teacher when she talked about self-harm.
Almost in the same week I learned about it, I got to see it second hand.
One of my best friends, one of the people that I would peg to be one of the happiest girls in the world- beautiful, athletic, talented at everything, rang my doorbell and asked if she could talk to me.
I led her down to my bedroom, where she made me promise two things. "Don't freak out. Promise you won't freak out," she said. I promised. I remember kind of wondering if she had been self-harming, but her second promise confirmed it, "Don't tell anyone. You can't, okay?"
I remember promising, hating myself because I knew that if she was self-harming, I didn't know if I could keep that secret.
Then she rolled up the sleeve of her sweatshirt. I am really not the best person when it comes to anything to do with the body, blood, muscles, bones, all that. When I saw the deep oozing cuts in her arm, I half went into shock.
I remember being so confused, even when she said, "I cut myself," it didn't register. Did she mean that she had intentionally cut herself, or had she had an accident and cut herself? I couldn't possess it.
She was crying, and I forced myself to focus. I couldn't freak out. I had promised I wouldn't. I had promised.
I snuck upstairs to my parent's bathroom and got some bandages and Neosporin, and downstairs in my bedroom I bandaged her arm. The cut was so deep; she bled through the first bandage. Unsure of what to do, I just placed a second one, which held.
Her parents were out of town for the week (it was spring break), so I begged my mom to let her stay at our house.
My mom doesn't allow sleepovers, but somehow I guess I was able to stress the urgency of the situation without actually telling her what was happening.
I slept out on the couch so that she could have my bed, but I didn't sleep all night. I was so afraid and upset and I had no idea what to do. I cried the whole night, only stopping close enough to morning that I could make it look like I hadn't cried all night. I couldn't let her see how upset and worried I was.
I had promised not to freak out.
After that, I didn't know what to do.
I tried to convince her to tell her parents, and she said that she would at some point, but it was pretty clear that that wasn't actually going to happen.
School started again, and I guess my eyes were actually opened to what was going on. I couldn't believe that I had missed seeing how stressed and worried about school she was. I felt awful for not noticing sooner.
She had just always seemed so happy.
But I guess she wasn't.
I cried uselessly for so long. Every time I saw her sweatshirt sleeve come up and expose her bandage, or her cuts, after the large ones had healed, I had to excuse myself to go to the bathroom, because I needed to cry.
What could I do?
Finally, I couldn't take it. I was scared and I had no idea what to do. Earlier I had asked my phycology teacher what to do if I knew someone who was cutting, but I couldn't tell her who it was, because I knew as a teacher, she would have to report it.
