For some reason, I’ve always had ridiculously high pain tolerance for anything happening on my skin. I’ll still come out of the shower with my back covered in scratch marks from where I could’ve sworn I was just absently getting soap off. It freaks Ben out a bit.
You could divide my childhood up into Before I Was Told Seeing Blood Meant Something Awful Was Happening and After That. Afterwards, I’d shriek like a fiend at the slightest glimpse of it. (I got over it.)