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You saw, huh?

No, it’s okay.  You don’t have to leave.  I… I want to talk to you about it, if you can stay?

I really appreciate it.

I know you don’t really know me.  I mean, I’ve seen you around since middle school.  But we’ve never even been paired up on a science project or anything, have we?  Weird how that happens.

I guess it’s best that way.

Here.  Can you pass me a paper towel?

Thanks.

So.  This is it.  How I cope.  How I get through.

It takes just one little slice to cover up the pain.  After two, three, and sometimes four cuts, I totally forget about all of my problems.  It’s pure bliss to be honest.  But the problem is that the relief doesn’t last very long, and then the darkness returns.  For a little while, the hurting stops.

Okay, sure, it doesn’t really go away.  I just cover it up for a bit.  It’s that the pain is so intense and, for a few moments, I can forget about all my issues and not worry about what everybody expects of me.

Oh, trust me.  People have plenty of expectations.  You might not think they would but you don’t see the eyes.

I can only cut myself so much without anyone noticing.  Plus, it’s not like I want to kill myself or anything.

Of course, I won’t lie, ending it all sounds great sometimes.  Right now, I’m holding hope that, once we’re out of school, I can get away from it all, stop having to worry about what everyone thinks, and blaze my own trails.

Meanwhile, I’m going to deal with it all the best I can and hope no one finds out what I’ve been doing.

Well, no one else.  You’re not going to tell anyone, are you?

You have no idea how much I appreciate it.

I can’t believe you found me here like this, honestly.  But I guess it was bound to be someone sooner or later.  Being popular makes everyone keep a close eye on me.  If they’re not watching what I wear, or what type of phone I’m using, so they can copy me and feel better about themselves.

I know the truth though.  There’s plenty of people just hoping I make some kind of mistake that they can use against me.

That’s why I wear these long sleeved shirts all year long.

I definitely noticed pretty much every other girl in school doing the same.

I’m not trying to belittle you, I promise.  I didn’t mean it to sound that way.  I’m sorry.

Wait.  Please.  Come back?

I’m so used to putting on this front.  I don’t know.

Thank you for understanding.  I’m actually really glad it’s you here right now.  I can’t even imagine what would happen if the wrong person saw my scars.  I can tell you that no one would find it cool and, like, copy it or anything.

I’d be… ruined.

The counselors and the other kids, they’d call me crazy.  Then I’d probably lose all the hard work I’ve put into things that are actually important.

You know, like my grades.  Editing for the yearbook.  Glee Club.  All that stuff that will help me get into a good college and get out of here!

I suppose I could salvage some of it if I changed schools or something, but I’d be way off track.   None of the really good schools would seriously consider me.

Yeah, I know that you’re probably thinking that cutting myself to handle life makes no sense.  And you’re right; it doesn’t.  But right now, I really don’t know what else to do.

Let me tell you about an average day for me.  I dare you to say I have it easy.  Or that life is so great for me because I’m popular and pretty.

I wake up at six-thirty in the morning to have enough time to shower, find a matching outfit that I haven’t worn recently, and then do up my hair and make-up pretty much perfectly.

I do all those just so the other girls have fewer bad things to use against me.

Oh, my friends are no exception.  In fact, I probably have to worry about what they see even more.

Because if we ever have a falling out, every promise and pact is null and void.  That leaves everything they know about me as potential ammunition for ruining my life.

When you become part of the popular crowd, you have to join a clique and be friends with everyone in it.  Then you have a rival clique that you have to hate.

Sometimes you discover that a friend from grade school is now your sworn enemy.  You simply don’t have a choice if you want to fit in with the popular crowd.

They’re aren’t very good friends at all, if you think about it. 

And to think that some girls dream of being like I am!  If they knew the expectations, I have a feeling they’d want nothing to do with popularity at all.  There are far more unspoken rules than I even want to list, but hopefully you get the idea.

If only some of the other kids knew just how difficult it is to keep up such a glorified appearance, they’d probably abandon all dreams of being part of the In Crowd.  Just be happy with the friends they have.  It can’t be that bad.

Sometimes I wonder why I try so hard to fit a role no one is good enough for.  It makes no sense.  Why do so many of us strive to be perfect?

Right now, I think that the idea of not having to worry about more than schoolwork and band practice is practically heaven.  Some may disagree, but if they walked in my shoes they’d understand.

Incidentally, those shoes?  Usually not very comfortable.  Mainly because even the fanciest kicks sacrifice comfort for style.

So… Now, do you have a better idea of what life is like for some of us with ‘perfect’ lives?

I know cutting is bad and all, but it’s not as bad as what some of my so-called friends do to cope, like drinking for example.

Some people may think that partying and getting drunk is cool.  But take a minute.  Try imagining waking up with a hangover from a weekend you can hardly remember because you’ve been wasted since Friday afternoon.

Now image… you have to go to school, because it’s Monday.

I only did that once.  I’ll never do something so stupid again.

I know girls who come in on Monday with no clue about what all they did all weekend or if they’re pregnant because of it. I’ve heard conversations in the bathroom that really have no place in a high school.

I’d swear that some of these girls get together every week just to compare potential symptoms of pregnancy.  Or STDs.  Like they’re keeping track.  Or trying to catch them all.

Every so often I see what looks like a pregnancy test shoved deep into the mess of paper towels in the garbage can around lunchtime.

But I see other things and hear a lot of rumors that sound a lot worse than just a scare.  In most cases, they stay rumors, taken care of without anyone knowing more.

I hate to run, but…  Well…

Now that I’ve sat here and poured my heart out to you—and my latest cuts have stopped bleeding—the pain inside is even worse.

The problem with cutting is that the relief is so temporary that I usually feel worse afterward.

You know, I don’t think I can do this anymore.  I really don’t.  I guess this all makes even less sense after I’ve explained it all in detail.

I’m tired of it.  I’m through with fighting.

But I’m not giving up.  I’ve worked so hard for all the good things I do have.

I’m going ask for help because, let’s face it: I clearly need it.  Wish me luck?

Thanks for listening to me blabber on.

Oh, and… I never said this before but, that shirt always looks really nice on you.  Just thought you should know.