So after my first class of the day a counselor asked me to enter her office. She did a small polite spheal about how college life can be rather stressing and that there are a lot of pressures on a person. Don't have to tell me lady, I know fully well. Then she started to talk about how life is not something to waste. At this point I got the feeling that this was a talk abo-
"You don't need to be ashamed to come to somebody about cutting yourself."
Wait, what? Seriously? I looked down at this alleged condition and then suddenly realized my lower arms were covered in scars. During Spring Break I helped my dad carry the logs from our last tree cutting project to a pile to cut them, and I didn't wear arm protection. Thus the various logs scraped up my lower arms rather badly. By Monday the scrapes had healed to the point where they looked like nasty scars. Apparently my english teacher noticed them and mistook them for something a suicidal person would do to themself.
I laughed and explained the situation. In the counselor way she didn't really buy my story and will likely call home to get a straight story, but the whole situation gave me a good laugh. And made me appreciate the relatively easy life I've been living. I was also happy about the fact that it didn't really hurt that much. I suppose I'm starting to be like my brother, who broke several fingers breakdancing and didn't really feel the pain. He did mention that there was a good deal of it, but it just sort of didn't bother him. The possibility that I may share this trait is encouraging.