I’m sitting in fifth hour, and the intercom buzzes. I tense in my seat, and I am no longer sitting there at my desk. My mind has taken me back to three years ago when I sat at a desk just like this one, and I heard the same intercom go off. “Mrs. Smith, would you please send Anna to the guidance counselor for a moment?,” the woman says. Mrs. Smith looks at me and gestures to the door, so I start my journey towards the counselor’s office. This is the first time I’ve been called to the guidance counselor, and I think I know why. My palms are sweating, and I can hear my heart in my ears. When I finally arrive, I reach to knock on the door with shaking hands. When it opens, Mr. Morgan looks at me with a smile that I try my best to return. He says, “Anna! Come on in! It’s good to see you. How are you?” 

I answer politely with an “I’m fine, how are you?” This polite speech goes on for what seems like an hour -but in reality was about two minutes- until he finally gets to the point. 

“Now Anna, I’m sure you’re probably wondering why you’re here,” he says. I simply nod, too nervous to speak. He continues, “well unfortunately I’ve received a report from an anonymous student who told me you have been hurting yourself”. I think I stopped breathing when he said that. Of course I knew that’s why I’d been called up, it was only a matter of time, I just didn’t realize it would be this soon. 

“I’m not sure what you mean,” I said. I could tell he’d heard this answer before as he looked at me with a look of unbelief. He and I both knew that I was lying. 

“Anna,” he said, “this is nothing to be ashamed of, but someone told me you’ve been cutting yourself. This is very serious, so I just wanted to talk to you about it.” I felt my cheeks heat up, and tears fill my eyes. “I’ll need to see both of your wrists please”.

I rolled up my sweatshirt sleeves, and right there stood the half healed evidence. Perfectly straight red lines littered my arms. “I swear these are from my cat, she’s so mean,” I tried to save myself. 

He said, “Anna, you know I can’t believe that. No cat can make that many scratches and definitely not that straight”. 

And that is when my tears fell, and I knew my whole world was about to come crashing down. The breakfast I had eaten that morning was threatening to make an appearance on Mr. Morgan’s desk, and I was sure that wouldn’t gain me any favors from him. I begged him not to tell my parents. I told him I had stopped, these were old, I don’t do it anymore, but nothing I could say would change his mind.

He told me that this could be a growing experience for my parents and I. We could turn this negative into a positive. I stared blankly at the wall behind his head, and I nodded until he allowed me to go back to class. Just as I was leaving his office, the bell rang, and the halls were flooded with the bodies of junior high students. There I stood with puffy eyes and a tear stained face, when I made eye contact with the only other person who knew about my struggle, one of my best friends at the time, Kate. I ran to her, a sobbing mess yet again, and I said, “someone told. They told the counselor, and now he’s going to call my parents”. She knew right away what I was talking about, and she hugged me and offered to walk me to class. 

As the rest of the day went on, I felt my anxiety grow just thinking about going home and facing my parents. I thought about how disappointed they must be, and I wondered if they would tell me I was being dramatic or seeking attention. When I finally got home, though, the first person I saw was my father. He just stood there for a second after I walked through the door, and then he hugged me so tight, I almost couldn’t breathe. I felt my shoulders relax as I hugged him back. “Your mom and I want to talk to you about this,” he said, “but for now you can just take some time to yourself.” 

Eventually, I did have to talk to my parents about everything that had been going on, but it turned out alright. In the end, it did turn out to be a growing experience for all three of us. Not only did they understand, but they asked me what I needed, they asked me how they could help or if I needed to talk to someone. Yes, I still have bad days. I have relapsed in the past, and self harm will continue to be something that I struggle with, but now I know that I have a strong, steady support system. 

I still tense when the intercom buzzes, not because I think it will be me, but because it brings me back to a time in my life that took me so long to move past, a time that I still regret years and years later. I tense because I have moved on, and I hope to never move back.