My parents found out that I have been cutting myself. We were at our usual therapy session and my mother was sitting beside me on the couch. I pulled up my sleeve just a little bit to scratch an itch on my lower arm and she noticed the lacerations. She asked me what they were from and I told her that one of my friends had a cat and it scratched me. She didn’t look convinced and neither did my dad or the therapist. Dr. Wilson started focusing on me and what would cause me to cut myself. I started to get angry that they weren’t focusing on the reason that we were all there in the first place. My mom and dad are headed for divorce and they’re just dragging me through all of their crap. Of course I cut myself! How else am I going to stay sane in my house? I kept trying to change the subject and pull down my sleeve, but my dad pulled it up and both of my parents started to cry. This was the first time that anybody has seen my scars of pain. Dr. Wilson suggested that my parents send me to a mental institution. I begged my parents not to send me there. Then I admitted to them that I have cut myself, but I don’t anymore (even though that’s a lie) and that I’m fine. It took a lot of begging and pleading to talk my parents out of sending me to a mental institution.
Simon is still dodging me at school, so the other day I hid behind the bleachers and watched him during soccer practice. Afterwards I followed him home and left a teddy bear with a letter on his doorstep. Eventually, he’ll realize that we’re meant to be together.