I don't know when it started happening, but I know that it is happening now. The thoughts, the fears, the actions were based on impulse. I was under so much stress and pressure that I couldn't do it anymore. I just couldn't. It officially started when I saw it. I still remember how it shimmered and reflected the dim light. I grabbed it and hid it away until that night. That night, I made my first officials. Three. But about a month before, I was constantly picking at the skin and opening it, but it didn't actually count as "cutting", or at least I don't think it did. All I know is it was still harmful. I still have that scar to this day, I doubt it will ever completely fade.
The next day I cut three times, again. After that, until exactly a week later, on a Thursday, I had cut at least two more times, and I planned to cut more. I wanted to do something "special" for one week. Like that was a big deal them? I guess I was going to do a lot of them or something. I knew it would become an addiction, and I didn't care.