I would get a rubber band and wrap it around
my hand just above the thumb, and ping myself with it so
hard that it would leave a red swelled mark that would stay for
two or three days. I loved feeling the hot raised flesh under my
fingers - I loved the control it gave me. I craved it. I
remember asking my older brother for a rubber band after I
snapped mine, and loving the confusion on his face when I refused
to tell him what it was for. I remember walking to the cafeteria
with H and ignoring her questions about the welts on my hand. I
remember excusing myself to the bathroom every second class to do
it, sneaking away at break and lunch and after school, sneaking
one or two hits on the bus-ride home. I remember challenging
myself - how many can I do at once? I remember drawing blood and
panicking and idly wondering if there were plasters big enough to
cover it. & after every hit, after every ping, I
would feel the marks I made on my skin, and I relished the fact
that I was strong enough to do this to myself. This was
years ago, way before I dealt with all these secrets and
this pain. I didn't even know what self-harm was at the time.
I just liked doing it. I was
ten.
