I can't really explain how I felt afterwards, and I don't think I remember properly as it was 6 years ago. I know felt relieved, I had stopped crying and I remember how calm I was. I washed the blood away, dried my arm and went to bed. Lying in bed I inspected my arm, carefully touching the cuts I had made, there were 5 or 6 red tramline cuts and as I watched as they swelled up, my arm throbbed and felt warm with the pain of the injury. I felt a strange mix of emotions including shock but mainly I felt excited and proud.
I know how strange that must sound, its so hard to explain. All the anger and pain and frustration I had been feeling was gone, I was relaxed and happy. I looked at my arm and to me it looked beautiful, I liked the way the cuts swelled and throbbed. I looked on it as my secret, something that belonged to me - my comfort. I never thought about the fact that I was mutilating my body and I never thought of the scars I might leave.
I had felt for such a long time that I was just holding on by my finger tips, I was struggling to cope with the conflict at home and school. Trying to appear unaffected and holding all my heartache inside, so that people didn't see me as weak and hurt me again. I walked round wanting to scream every minute of every day, scared that if I did I wouldn't be able to stop. I felt everything was my fault (because I had been told so repeatedly by my mum). I was at breaking point and somehow this was my salvation. All the pain (that hard trobbing lump of uncried tears in my chest) vanished. I felt such a release, like I had let all the pain that I was struggling to keep inside out.
