I moved the bent bottle cap; it tingled, almost pleasant. I felt a raindrop on my leg. I looked up to a cloudless sky. Then another drop, I looked down, and saw it was my arm. I was a bloody mess, red, vibrant, alive, and flowing. I ran into my house. My dad was at work, my siblings out playing with friends. It was just me. I went upstairs and washed the cuts out with the bubbly stuff Mrs. Ellard always used; I found some Band-Aids and Neosporin; i put them on too. Then I was finished, all cared for and cleaned up.
My wounds became words; they screamed out what could not be spoken. The pain on the outside reflected the pain on the inside. I felt one with myself, finally.
My name is Gabrielle and I am twenty-eight years old. I began to self-injure at age fifteen -- so nearly thirteen years -- minus a two year period. This website was made to let self-injurers know that they are not alone and to help their friends and family learn more about self-injury and how it affects their loved one.
