I’d squeezed my eyes shut and gritted my teeth, pressing harder, hissing at the sharp sting as the blade pierced my skin. I opened my eyes and watched as a small bead of blood oozed from the cut and held my breath as pain turned to ecstasy. The compulsion to carry on and cut deeper was strong, almost overpowering. The agony would have been exquisite; I knew that.
The urge had overwhelmed me, but I’d fought it with every fibre of my being. I’d done it before, and I could do it again. I needed to be strong. This didn’t control me. I couldn’t let that happen again.
Finally, I dropped the blade. It fell to the floor with a clatter, and I let out a breath. Relieved.
I fell to my knees, my head over the toilet, and heaved, my skin hot and sweaty. Thankfully, it had only been a tiny nick, but it could have been so much worse. What would happen if I were confronted again? Next time, I might not be in as much control.
“I cut.” I dropped my head in shame.
“How bad, Harvey?”
“Small. You can barely see it,” I mumbled.
“That’s good that you stopped. Did you use the techniques we’ve talked about?”
I nodded again, but I’d been so close that it had taken time for the coping strategies to take hold.
“Do you want to tell me why?”
I looked down and picked at the skin around my fingernails, but it didn’t offer the same relief as a blade.
“Harvey, look at me.”
Reluctantly, I faced the screen.
“I met a man.” A man I found ridiculously attractive. “He spoke to me.”
“And what did you think about that? You speak to men at work and when you go shopping. What made this one different?”
All these fucking questions. It was as if I was being interrogated, but I knew she was only trying to help. We’d been through this so many times before, and each time, I tried to hide my shame.
“He was someone I liked,” I said, irked at her questions. It was her job to understand things, but that didn’t mean I wanted to answer.
“Tell me about him.”
“There’s not much to say. He was attractive.”
“Why did you feel the need to go home and cut?”
“You know why, Julie. It was the same as before.” I paused for a moment, figuring out what to say. Why was he different? What made me want to come home and cut myself?
“Harvey?”
“There was something about him. I can’t explain. When I see men I like…” I looked away from the screen. “When I see men I like, I don’t have a mad urge to cut. Often, it’s what I feelafterwards that causes me to do that. The shame that I’ve even looked at them. But that’s not happened in a while.”
I shook my head; emotions were hard.
“I know. You’re doing so well, Harvey. Keep going.”
“With him, it was different. The minute I saw him, I knew he wasn’t like anyone else. He sang, and his voice called to something inside me. Yes, he was good-looking, but it was more than that. My reaction to him was instantaneous, intense. I was under his spell, unable to look away. His voice.” I placed my hand on my chest. “It touched my heart. The words of the song filled me with an emotion I can’t describe. I didn’t want him to stop. He was singing about my life. But more than that, it brought back memories of my parents dancing when I was a child.”
“And how did that make you feel?”
“Sad. Happy. The memory was a happy one.”
“That’s good. And was it the memory that made you feel that way about him?”
“No, not at all. That was all him. I talked to him outside after I left the bar. He was outside smoking. We didn’t say much, really. He asked me whether I wanted to go for a drink. I said no, but I so wanted to. I wanted to sink into his arms. But I couldn’t. I’m so tired of being the way I am.”