Looking at the glossy tile floor, my legs shook and my body became cold.Taking a slow glance around, I could feel my stomach bile rise in my throat. Fake, forced smiles decorated the teachers faces. The smell coming from the kitchen area made me force back a gag. Students surrounded me. Students moved around me as I took my time looking for someone, anyone, I knew.

“ I bet none of them even recognize us. Goodness! Look at how fat Katlen got over summer. I bet she isn’t half as fat as you are though. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!” Boe’s laughter makes my chest shake.

“ Maybe she is havin’ trouble at home. We can probably go say hi.” I replied sheepishly.

Boe had been my only friend throughout the summer. In the beginning, she helped me a lot. We started working out and even decided that playing Barbie dolls with Dani Cali and Alaska was childish. Boe helped me grow up. I was loyal to her for her help, even if not everything she said or did was very nice.

“ Uhh, gag. What a wimp. You can’t even move on from elementary baby friends. I thought you wanted to grow up.”

“ I did. No, I do. I just think, maybe if she is havin’ a hard time, it’d be nice to just say hey or som’thin’.”

“ Actually, no. You’re right! That’s a great idea! We can go over there and you can show her just how fat you’ve gotten and how ugly you are now. I bet her and Olivia would be thrilled to have someone to make fun of. Come on, let’s go!”

“No, I think you’re right. Maybe we should just walk to the gym and wait for our schedule.Maybe we can get a decent seat for morning announcements.” 

 ∽:∽

For a few weeks my old friends tried to talk to me, invite me to go do things, but it didn’t last long. Most conversations started with me, ended just as quickly. I didn’t talk to them and they slowly stopped talking to me. I had people to sit with at lunch but they didn’t talk to me. A group of football players gave me the nickname of voicebox, referring to my lack of one. 

“ That’s not cool Scooby. Maybe she just don’t like talkin’. You ain’t gotta clown on everybody you get around. Leave the girl alone, would ya.” Sebastian, one of my dad’s friend’s nephew, said twisting a goopy food around his plate.

“ Whatever man. You act like you like her or sum.” Scooby retorted back. 

Although I was thankful for Sebastian sticking up for me, it only made things worse. Football guys annoyed me left and right. My phone was thrown into my locker and almost broken at one point. When every Sebastian came over to play video games or do anything, I avoided him like the black plague.

One afternoon, while hiding out in the woods for the millionth time that week, Boe found me. Her pale skin and blood red lips were a exotic contrast to the way the earthy green leaves flew back and forth on the branches. She sneered at a passing rabbit. She had hardly ever come while I was in the woods. Boe was always leaving when I suggested visiting the woods. It was my peace and sanctuary and I guess she didn’t like that. Lots of questions went through my mind but the most distinctive was, ‘ Why is she here?’.

“We need to have a wi-little chat, my old friend.” Boe sat down beside me, time felt as though it had slowed almost to a hult as her body moved closer to the ground.

“ I don’t understand. We talked before school and during and yet again after. What didn’t we cover? ” I tried to sound strong but my voice quivered like a chihuahua. My heart had started to beat rapidly, I was sure Boe was loving every second and thinking of ways to amplify my fears. 

“ Bloom, I’m always with you. Everywhere you are, I am.” Her lips pulled apart forming a quarter moon shape of terrifying teeth.“ You can’t hide anything from me sweety. Anyways, we have other things to discuss rather than your ignorant fear of me.” A laugh almost escaped her mouth.“ That new girl, Lyla. Did you see her arms today?” 

“ Yeah. She said her cat attacked her but she had really deep ones closer to the top. I don’t think those were from her cat.” I huddled into myself, praying to God, Jesus, anyone else listening. Cracking my eye open I found Boe still there, ugly, yellowed teeth smiling, razor sharp at me. That smile told me my worst fears were yet to be imagined.

“  Of course they weren’t, you idiot. She did them herself. I think she’s cool. Why don’t you become friends?”

“ I don’t know. She doesn't even look like she likes me. Maybe I could just stay to myself. It’s not like it's a problem for me or something .”

“ Yeah, and you just looooove having kids call you voicebox all the time, don’t you. I didn’t think so.” Her cheshire grin turned into a bone rattling growl. “ I will NOT have you ruining this year. Either you become friends with her,...” Something more than a smile crept onto her face. I could feel the blood drain out of my body, my eyesight fogging around the edges. Boe was the only thing I could see and I didn’t like it. “ or I’ll make your life a living hell.”

Boe vanished and my eyesight became regular again. I felt so many emotions wash over me. I couldn’t help but think of how bad Boe could hurt me. The way she made everything but herself disappear from my vision. It terrified me, and I knew I had only one choice. 

I became friends with the girl Lyla. She wasn’t half bad. The only things wrong were her decision making. I seemed to agree on that as well, eventually. We talked about boys and our families. She told me that cutting made her forget about everything for a while. That when she slept with guys, it made her feel beautiful and exotic. I didn’t understand that. I also didn’t understand who Mary Jane was at the time either. 

Mostly because of not understanding,I didn’t take up the sex and drugs. I thought that maybe the cutting would help though. I’d always heard my parents talk to my sisters and me about talking to them when we have a problem, but mom was in Arizona getting things set up for our family and  dad didn’t seem interested in anything other than work those days. Lyla said it helped, plus, I had seen similar marks on my older sister a few months before. Maybe if she’s doing it, I guess it isn’t that bad, right?

It wasn’t very hard to find a knife around my house. If I couldn't find one in my own backyard, I just walked to my cousin's house and used one of theirs. We were always running through the woods cutting down weeds on the path and killing snakes that came around. We knew they weren’t toys but we had as many knives as we did hot wheels or barbie dolls. So, I found one and cleaned it really well. 

Lyla had said the first time she did it, it got infected because the knife was dirty. With that knowledge,I made sure not to make the same mistake. I took rubbing alcohol, peroxide, bleach and other heavy cleaning supplies. After I had cleaned the knife I went inside to prepare a small med kit for myself.

Marching toward my sanctuary, I felt good, almost happy. Trees blew with the wind but the leaves didn’t glimmer. The rabbits still ruffled the leaves around me but their soft pink noses didn’t show. I sat down on the same moss covered rock I always had, but today, it seemed different somehow.  Everything moved as it had before, yet, nothing moved the same. 

I wiped and swabbed my forearm the way the doctors had before they shoved the smallest human torture divise know to man, into your arm. I layed band-aids, alcohol wipes, gauze, and medical tape out around me.I didn’t know what all I would need but I wanted to be prepared.

 The lime green moss seemed to dim each time I placed an item down. My hands shook as the Kentucky Wildcats knife came closer to my arm. Tears welled up in my eyes. Douts ran across my mind with flashes of images of blood squirting veins and hospital beds. I pushed the images out of my head as a tear dropped down my cheek. Salt and rust invaded my mouth like two armies ready to invade a country. My teeth clamped down on my tongue, blood trickled down my throat.

As a second tear slid down my chin and dropped to my arm, the damage was done. Pain shot across my arm like a shooting star in the middle of the night; like flames sparked over gasoline.I cut a second time, then a third, each time digging farther. As the pain subsided, I only felt relief. It was an odd feeling; all this weight suddenly lifted off my chest and floated above me. 

I watched the blood slip soundlessly down my arm. I remember thinking about how odd it was that my pain would suddenly run out with this harmless dark red stream. How could my problems be tied into the amount of blood my body releases? I soon forgot and became lazily relaxed.

“ That’s my favorite color.”

 I turned my head lazily to face my friend. Her eyes looked hungry at my arm and her teeth, no longer yellowed but red tented, held saliva strings between them. I didn’t answer this time. I simply smiled, laid my head back and breathed.

School was the only place I couldn't bring my knife but one of the only places I had a reason to cut. 

“ Scratch” A quiet voice whispered in my ear.

“What?” I mumbled curiously.

“ Scratch. Like with your finger nails.” Boe was no longer whispering. 

I was in the middle of seventh grade graduation and nervous was far too soft to explain how I felt. Apprehensive, overwrought, twitchy. I was almost hysterical. So, I scratched. My dad and older sister sat in the front row watching me. I kept glancing at them wondering when God would answer my prayers and make this all go away. 

My dad caught my glance and noticed my scratching. He made a scratching motion and held his hands up in a questioning manner. ‘Why’ he mouthed. I shook my head ever so slightly and turned my undivided attention to the principle. 

My self harm journey had taken a painful turn.

Two Months Later…

“Woah! Bloom, what happened to your legs?” My elder cousin, Megan, asked while we packed moving boxes into a UHale van. She pointed at my bare legs with a look of concern and confusion on her beautiful face. 

“ I wish she’d shut up. She screams like that again and dad will catch on to us.” Boe growels. 

“ Get her to shut up! NOW!” 

“ Uhmm. It’s nothing. Skylar and I were clearing a new path out in the woulds and I got stuck on a brier bush.” My excuse was believable. Skylar and I had been clearing a new path and even Megan knew that the woods were clogged with brier bushes. 

“Oh, okay. Well, maybe next time be more careful.Do you need help with those boxes?”

Things like this happened a lot. Questions arise and excuses given. ‘How did you get those scratches?’ ‘Brier bushes’ ‘ Where did that cut come from?’ ‘I feel out of the old oak tree.’ ‘ What happened to your hand?’ ‘ I was fixing the horse fence and the chicken wire wrapped around my arm.’ They took these excuses like night time medicine, with a distance but acceptance. They knew these things happened and they knew that the backlash looked similar to my affected area, but that they didn’t like the frequency to which they happened. 

Once we moved to Arizona my excuses weren’t valid anymore. No more woods, no horse fences to fix, no old oak trees to fall out of. After a year I openly admitted that I had a problem. It took another year before I tried to stop. More of my time was spent crying and screaming at the top of my lungs, curled into a ball than on actually trying to recover. 

I slowly stopped cutting but instead started scratching myself. They took more effort and more attention. They hurt more, and I liked it. I turned to things that were less noticeable when I could. Burning myself while cooking or cutting myself while cutting onions became a frequent thing for me. The scabs from the scratching looked like burns anyways. 

 ∽:∽

I tried to force myself into doing normal things but my anger only grew. I became a coke bottle and every little thing seemed like a mento dropped into my open top. I took my actions to the extremity. Theft, drugs, and alcohol became more important than anything. 

It took a long, long, long, LONG time before anything got better. Although honestly, it never got better completely. Things still set me back and memories cut at me like the sharp knives and razors I had once used before. Even though they come rushing back whenever I look in the mirror, the memories hurt the most.

I hate wearing shorts, skirts, dresses, tank tops,bathing suits, and most short sleeved shirts. You can see my story that way. You can see the things I ruined for myself. But that's not why I hate them. I hate them because you can’t see the strength it took to stop. No one can see the tears and sweat I put  in to control the urges. They can’t see it and they never ask.

Growing doesn’t mean forgetting. I know this because I will never forget. Although I will never forget, I still have the opportunity to move on and become a better person. 

“ You can’t go back and change the beginning, but you can start where you are and change the ending”

-C.S. Lewis