Only now I've realized the true meaning of self-harm.
My first hypothesis came after Randall's fall: at that time I felt worthless and an insult to everyone's existence. I didn't deserve existence until I was brought to the hospital. For that I must thank Alphonse because, despite he wasn't de iure on my side, de facto he saved me. I still remember how much he was angry with me for my recklessness. "You can't just imagine how everyone is worried! -he firstly yelled at me, but then he softened- Be sensible, please. If you think we're worried because you're a bother, you can't be more wrong. We care. Really. Don't laugh." I stopped snickering, a tired smile over my face, faltering in a frown. Then in tears. I still can't stop apologizing to my parents for the worry I've caused 13 years ago.
I avoided making myself more harm after Clark's intervention, when I was so overwhelmed by feelings and guilt I was pointing a sharp pencil on my throat, my eyes tired, his even more, but his mind more brilliant than mine. "What are you doing? Just go to sleep, come on..." By his words and motion I realized he was oblivious of the actual situation. I still thank him in silence.
Then Claire arrived. I was afraid of knowing someone else at first, but my ice melted, letting me met her and know her deeper. We fell in.
But then she died.
And that's when I sank in the depression's grip, all my blades and anything sharp a possible weapon. Self-harm was not for guilt: it was a test. A gentleman is not suposed to show his weaknesses to anyone, not even to himself. Any cut was just a practice, to prove that yes, I'm still worthy for that title, for that name. For her love.