Ellie wore a stack of bangles on her left arm to hide the telltale striations from a razor or box cutter. She noticed my eyes landing there. “That was, my doctor insisted, a coping mechanism. I considered it a distraction at best. Nothing helped me cope. Keeping a journal. Medication. Counseling. None of it, well intentioned as it was, did a fucking thing to make it go away. Only one thing worked.”
