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The first friends I told weren't really surprised, because they knew I'd been depressed. I felt good about telling them, because they affirmed how much they cared about me, and how much they wanted me to get better. Telling my school counselor made me cry, because I was so humiliated and scared. I didn't want her to tell my mother. That was very hard. My first psychologist was wonderful and helped me stop. She treated me like an equal, and I felt like she believed in me and wanted me to get better, which made me want to get better. My second psychologist asked me if I was using something sterile to do it with. The hell? Isn't that a weird question to start with? The third counselor made me promise never to do it again. Hello? Like that ever fucking works. She was a tool. My aunt was shocked and upset. My sister said, "Oh. My friend does that."