During my senior year of high school, there were only a handful of students in my Latin III class. We’d banter and write stories - in Latin, of course - and do our studies while our teacher taught Latin I and II in another part of the classroom.
I got to know my classmates pretty well. And so it was a shock when one of my classmates - let’s call him Mike to protect his identity - showed up with a lightly slashed wrist. The cuts were not deep enough to draw blood, but deep enough to be noticeable. I asked him what happened; he made a glib comment about some accident or another, and I forgot about it.
Several days later, he showed up with a fresh set of cuts alongside both wrists. Not across the wrist, but down from his wrist toward his elbows. Again, the cuts weren’t deep, but they were made with some sharp instrument and the skin around the cuts were pink. Scabs had already covered the cuts where the skin had been broken.
I can’t remember if I asked about the new cuts, but I remember thinking that these cuts weren’t by accident but by design.
Mike was a cutter.
Over the following several days and weeks, new sets of cuts appeared on Mike’s arms. The cuts became deeper and deeper, drawing blood more and more. And yet he’d almost proudly show us the cuts on his forearms. I know I must’ve remarked on them, and so did our other classmates. Mike brushed away our concerns and comments, yet seemed to relish them.
One day, he showed up with cuts so deep that blood had been drawn along almost the entire length of his forearm from wrist to nearly his elbow. Scabs had just begun to cover most of the cuts, and the cuts that hadn’t yet been covered were red and gaping.
That was it. My sign language interpreter and I signed to each other - “What can we do?” “Maybe I could leave class and tell a counselor?” “Yes, yes, do that!” During a lull in class, my interpreter discreetly left the class. After a few minutes, she came back. “I told a counselor, and she’ll be here in a few minutes,” she signed quietly to me. Several minutes later, a counselor poked her head into the classroom, and asked Mike to come with her and to please bring his stuff with him.
For several days, he didn’t come back to school.
I felt horrible. I felt like I had instigated some crisis in his life. Was he still alive? Was he in a hospital with tubes running up his arm? Was he in a mental institution somewhere? I waited further news with bated breath and a good measure of trepidation.
One day, Mike was back in class. And he had a young girl - our age - by his side. I’d never met this girl before. She stayed by his side all day that day as he went to different classes at school. And he didn’t have any new sets of scars since that last, deep set of cuts - which by then were healing normally. We all didn’t speak about his absence, other than to greet him back. And from that point on, no new set of cuts again appeared on his wrists.
One day several weeks later, the counselor stopped the interpreter in the hall and thanked her for alerting her. As discreetly as she could, the counselor explained that Mike was having problems with his parents over a girl he liked, and cutting his wrists was a mix of relieving stress and a call for attention.
Flash forward twenty-two years (geez, has it been that long?). I recently got back in touch with Mike, and a couple days ago, I emailed him asking about the cutting. I explained that I was the one who reported him 22 years ago, and asked what had happened. He responded thanking me for my concern, and explained that he wasn’t suidical - just experimenting with different pain thresholds. He said the counselor was satisfied with that explanation and let him go.
I’m not too sure about that explanation, but I agree with Mike - he certainly wasn’t suidical. Whether he was just experimenting or not, it almost certainly was a call for attention and a way to alleviate his stress.
If you’re a cutter or if you suspect someone close to you is a cutter, here’s an excellent resource over at KidsHealth.org about cutting. It explains that cutting is a way of dealing with trouble, stress, or depression, and can become compulsive behavior. And it lists a few anecdotes as well as ways of getting help.
I’m glad my interpreter and I were courageous enough to get help for Mike. And I hope you can have the courage to do the same for yourself or others.
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Josh, thank you for this. I was never a cutter, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t cross my mind. I knew it wasn’t a “way out” of the emotional crises I’ve dealt with over the years.
I’m glad you had the guts to report your classmate. That definitely could not have been easy. I tend to think it’s easier to “report” someone you don’t know than someone you do know.
If anyone out there is a cutter, thinking about it, or knows someone who is… please get help. :)
And thank you, Thank You, for sharing this. I wonder about it being easier to report someone you don’t know … I think it’s probably easier to report someone who’s just an acquaintance or classmate than someone who you know too well. And I think many people would just ignore these signs in people they don’t know at all — i.e., those that they pass in the halls or see on the train. Hmmm.
Good point. :)
I’ve reported friends before… and I know others who have also reported friends. I don’t know if I would report a simple acquaintance, because I would be hesitant to “interpret” something the wrong way (or too intensely) and have it cause further problems.
In turn, good point.
I’ve reported several before, in fact, one woman (whom I barely knew) IM’d me out of the blue saying that she hates the world and will be planning to end her life soon. She lived in other state, so I called the police and explained the situation, the police got in touch with the local police in her area and sent them the IM messages. Later on, she came back on IM, really pissed off at me for calling the police on her. Bottom line, I’m not staying around to play games and see if it’s a joke or not. Someone tells me they are going to hurt himself/herself, I’m going to call the cops on them, period. Better safe than sorry.
Forgive me for straying off-point but there’s an indie flick that centers around suicide… “Wristcutters: A Love Story”
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0477139/
It’s definitely surreal: an afterlife populated exclusively with suicides. One reaction I had was that it takes the edge off the behavior (goes to show that off-Hollywood is still Hollywood-ish).
The First Amendment advocate I am, I’m for artistic expression and all but I wonder if after some people (susceptible youth, really) watch it, they’ll find themselves encouraged to fulfill the adage that life imitates art.
Maybe for those who fall far outside the bell curve. John Hinckley, anyone? If thought corrupts language, does language always corrupt thought as well? Say it ain’t so!
JT, who says it has to be “corruption?” Thought and language do influence one another. It’s sorta like the whole chicken-and-egg cycle. :)
I think it’s more how we interpret thoughts and behaviours, and whether we have the capacity to recognise what is extreme and what is an appropriate reaction to some issue, problem or crisis.
And, isn’t British spelling fun? ;-)
Interesting e-article! Same thing with the body modifications among young people to alternate their own bodies for artistic expression.
Robert L. Mason (RLM)