The first time I tried to cut was in fourth grade.
Kinda weird that it happened when I was nine years old. I say tried, because the blades of the scissors weren’t sharp enough anyway. But it was a fair attempt. Good try, young me.
Anyway. I was in class. Hacking away at my wrist with scissors, not getting anywhere fast, only receiving the most minor scars in the process. I remember this kid looked at me with this odd stunned look. He didn’t like me much (not many did) but the look in his eyes looked like that of concern. Or at least pity. The way he told me to stop, it had almost a tinge of confusion in it. Like, “What is she doing?”
Long story short, that kid got ahold of the teacher. My interaction with them was brief. They took the scissors away and told me to sit down. I didn’t think that much of it as a kid. Just, “Oh. I guess I did something wrong.” But now… I honestly don’t know whether to scream or laugh. Like, that is your reaction to a nine-year-old kid, albeit very inefficiently, trying to cut themselves? It’s hilarious how a child, who didn’t like me by the way, had more sympathy for me than a fully functioning adult.
I dunno. Maybe they thought I was doing it for attention. Maybe I was. But doesn’t that at least raise a few red flags to you?
I dunno why I told you this. I just thought it was funny. In an infuriating sort of way.