vWhen I was twelve, I started hitting myself in the head for no apparent reason.
I mean, let's face it, who really wants to smack themselves in the on the side of their noggin.
The weird thing about it is that no one saw me sit myself. It seemed that whenever someone turned their head, or when I was left alone, my arm, completely out of my control, would rise up and slap me.
I remember the first time I hit myself. I was about ten or so, in the library reading a book by Dr. Spock, and for some reason beyond my simple adolescent comprehension, my left arm raised up, and with the palm of my hand, clobbered myself on my right cheek. I sat there, frightened and flabbergasted.
It didn't happen again for weeks. And I was just as frightened and just as shocked when it happened again. Slowly, over a period of a year or so, the frequency in which I was smacked increased. Always when I least expected it; and always when no one could see.
I tried talking to people about it. Never overtly, because I knew inherently that it would sound ridiculous. I would always hint at it, beating around the bush in a comical fashion, trying to gauge if other people were smacking themselves as well. I never got that impression. Apparently I was the only one who was slapping themselves in the face without my own consent.
At one point, I must have tipped my hand a little too much, as a friend said to me, "Are you trying to say that you"re smacking yourself on the head?".
"No, no, no", I responded, almost too quickly.
After a few years of continually hitting myself, I gave up. I couldn't control it, and the hitting was starting to bruise, but only in places that no one could see. I was in pain, and by this point I was hitting myself twenty, sometimes thirty times day. I was exhausted, because I couldn't sleep well at nights with the constant interruptions. Often, I simply cried myself to sleep because of the pain that my betraying body caused.