One in Four

by Lucinda Berry

back inside. Alive. 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. Almost like she was possessed. No thought beforehand. No plan. She didn’t wake up that morning and think I’m going to hurt myself today so I feel better. It just happened.