Winter had finally come and I didn't have to worry about people seeing my cuts.
I'd wake up in the mornings, eyes swollen from crying, I'd slowly put my feet on the cold hard wood floors, look down at my thighs to see how they touched, wishing I was skinnier, I'd look at my arm to see the swollen skin around each little cut, put my hair up, grab my cheer bag and leave for practice.
Being a cheerleader most people wouldn't think cutting yourself would be something easily hid, me on the other hand I could hide it untill this one day...
I was at practice and my stunt group was about to go up but our front spot couldn't hold onto my wrist very well because of my sweat shirt. She pulled up my left sleeve to reveal my cuts to my whole stunt group. Out of pure anger she slapped my cuts as hard as she could and started to yell. She told me how stupid I was being and it was for no good reason. while this was going on I could feel my scabs slowly peel apart causing the addicting feeling of blood coming down my arm. The satisfaction I got from the pain was almost disturbing if it wasn't for that with every break of my skin all the pain bottled up in me could seep out like carbonation in a soda you open slow. After that day soon more people than before found out and yet no one helped.
Just like how the winter air made your fingers go numb, my heart had gone numb.
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