When I was 16, I remember being alone in my room, desperate for a way to release my frustration. It was a weekday afternoon, after school.
I looked around the corner from my bedroom to make sure my parents weren’t around, then I started to hit my head on the wall.
One time in ballet class, we were at the barre doing plies. I had a rubber band on my wrist to snap harshly against my skin.
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