One in Four

by Lucinda Berry

Hurting yourself starts off like any other drug—the first time is always amazing, and you spend the rest of your time chasing that first high. Lots of girls at her school cut. Carrying around their razor blades in soft velvet pouches like they were heroin kits. But she didn’t like the blades. She preferred the belt. That’s how it started. By complete accident.

The only time she cried during that first session was when she talked about Hilda, and how much she’d hurt and scared her mom when she’d overdosed. She never cried when she talked about herself. She obviously loved her mom as much as her mom loved her.

It’s just that maybe by doing it, you find out you actually like it. That your body responds to it. Wakes up. Feels alive. Lifeblood coursing through your veins. You never feel more alive than in the seconds after you’ve almost died. Ask anyone that’s had the experience. She didn’t put the belt around her neck because she wanted to die. She did it because she wanted to feel alive. Has anyone ever thought about it like that? That’s what she’d explain to people’s loved ones if she could. Tell them they weren’t trying to die. They were just trying to feel alive.

Truth was, hurting herself made her feel alive, if only for a split second. It also helped her heal. Not from him, but from their words.