The familiar strains of Simon and Garfunkel’s “I am a Rock” played over the scratchy speakers. I winced. Normally, when this song comes on, I go somewhere else, or do something to block it out. Not because it’s a bad song – not at all.

A winter’s day/In a deep and dark December;/I am alone

The memories rise up and wash over me. More than a single memory, but countless times, sitting in that chair, arms bared on the table in front of me. My tools laid out by my hands – lighter, metal ruler with the tell-tale blackened edge, sometimes a razor blade – and off to the side, for later, the burn cream, Neosporin, and bandages.

I am a rock,/I am an island./I’ve built walls,/A fortress deep and mighty,/That none may penetrate.

Reaching over, I flipped on the CD player, letting Art and Paul cover my sins. No one in the house will hear my sharp intake of breath at the first bite of pain. That way they don’t have to know; I don’t want to burden them with my secret. But the music is as much for me as it is for them. The words fill my head, reminding me why I do this.

I have no need of friendship; friendship causes pain./It’s laughter and it’s loving I disdain.

I’m done. With a sweep of my uninjured arm, the evidence of my obsession is safely hidden again. I rub cream across the angry red lines on my forearm, numbing them enough that I can pull my shirtsleeves down with crying out. It’s only been a few minutes, though it feels like days. Whatever I did, it’s gone now, washed away. I am clean.

Hiding in my room, safe within my womb,/I touch no one and no one touches me.

The CD player, running on repeat, is still going. I tap a button, and it is silenced, waiting for another day, another crime for which I am judge, jury, executioner, and also the guilty defendant. The pasted smile I wore all day fades, to be replaced with one almost of contentment – it’s done and over, I can let it go. Squaring my shoulders, I head out the door to face the rest of my day.

I am a rock,/I am an island./And a rock feels no pain;/And an island never cries.

The closing notes of the song bring me back to reality. Almost unconsciously, I rub my hand up and down my left arm. The visible scars of those years have long since faded, but sometimes I imagine I can still feel the pain.