Two weeks ago I was silently sobbing on the floor of the bathroom, and my friend whom I was texting everything I was thinking to suddenly said that he had to go, he was sorry, but he couldn't stay. I took this to mean that I'd finally driven him away, and hurt him too through my own struggles. My self hatred went through the roof and on a spur of the moment I grabbed a pair of tweezers and used one of the tips to cut into a tiny portion of my hand that I knew I'd be able to explain later if anyone asked. The tweezers weren't all that sharp, so it took a while to cut beyond just a scratch.

I cut for the first time because no matter how depressed I got, the thing to spill me over the edge was my best friend needing to leave for the night because he was overwhelmed.

Later I learned that he had actually been overwhelmed with other things that day and had simply not been able to handle me in addition that night.

Two weeks later I have small scabs on my hand that haven't quite healed yet, two small cuts made with something else on my knee, one on my foot, and one on my hip.