I get back into bed, moving calmly and efficiently now, lie
on my stomach, and pull the covers over my head. Inside the dark
blanket tent, I fold the pie plate in half, press it flat, bend
it back and forth, back and forth, like I’m following a
recipe, back and forth, until the fold is crisp. When I rip it,
it gives way easily and I have two neat halves, each with a jagged
edge.
I lay my index finger lightly on the edge of one half, testing
it. It’s rough and right.
I bring the inside of my wrist up to meet it. A tingle crawls
across my scalp. I close my eyes and wait.
But nothing happens. There’s no release. Just a weird
tugging sensation. I open my eyes. The skin on my wrist is drawn
up in a wrinkle, snagged on the edge. I pull it in the other direction
and a dull throbbing starts in my wrist.
I hold my breath and push down on the piece of metal. It
sinks in neatly.
A sudden liquid heat floods my body. The pain is so sharp,
so sudden, I catch my breath. There’s no rush, no relief.
Just pain, a keen, pulsing pain. I drop the pie plate and grasp
my wrist with my other hand, dimly aware even as I’m doing
it that this is something I’ve never done before. Never
tried to stop the blood. Never interfered. It’s never hurt
like this before. And it’s never not worked.
Fifteen-year-old Callie is a cutter. She finds a strange release
of tension and emotional gratification when she mutilates herself.
But now things are different – things are changing. She
is in a residential treatment facility for troubled teens and
she is discovering that her old cutting habits do not satisfy
her as they once did. Callie (nicknamed "ST" for Silent
Treatment) slowly comes to understand some of the reasons behind
her self-mutilation, and gradually starts to get better. Slowly,
she begins emerging from her miserable silence, ultimately understanding
the role her dysfunctional family played in her turbulent and
troubled life.
