In the car, sitting across from me, was a pin. The tip of the pin glittered most enticingly. I was reminded that sharp objects seemed to bring relief, if only temporary.
I was scared, as I'd been the other three times I'd had a compulsion to self-harm. But this time, I wasn't as scared as I'd been.
I took the pin and drew its edge across my wrist, matching it with the other two scars. There. I'd done it. I wasn't reliant on self-harm, but it did seem to work.
And then, the gravity of what I was doing struck me. Hard.
"Oh, God," I whispered, "Don't let me do this again." I didn't want to be addicted to self-harm! I didn't want to be addicted to anything! I didn't want to be dependent on something so damaging as cutting! "God, help me! I don't want to do this!"
But at the same time, I didn't want to give it up. I'd only been flirting with self-harm, but already, I was having a hard time saying "no."