There aren't many cures to depression that actually work, but I do have one that works some of the time. If conditions are right, with a rising mood or a slowly sinking one, an idea gets wrapped by tentative thoughts conducive to further exploration. Plus, word count must not be anything close to a sizeable work. Short, short stories work very well.

One of the people I met at the psych farm was a cutter. He was a nice enough guy, early thirties, okay face, but had the scarred chevrons of a self-harmer. A recent one was bandaged and he picked at the dressing so much he was finally able to start pulling on the stitches. All the while he and I carry on a mindless conversation, my mind couldn't stay focused on what he was saying. It had to watch him tear at the dressing, stitches, and scar. One of the Psych Aides and asked me to leave. My new friend left the ward with a new bandage on his arm and a security guard on the other arm.

But todays story goes back to an earlier boy, who by the way wasn't a cutter, but did have the means to inflict some form of self-harm. That earlier boy became the focus of an older boy or he thought the boy was older. About a year after the event in question, the boy learned they were the same age. When you have the self-esteem of dirt, the social skills of shrubbery, and you're scared shitless some boy is going to catch you admiring his nice ass, well you tend to shy away from any unexpected close contact.

So, today's story is about a cutter who has a problem. A football player says he's cute (in a cuddly sort of way) and the cutter reacts in the only way he knows how. In many ways it's a sad story. Then, again, it's not a sad story at all. I guess it kind of depends on how you look at yourself.