And then it bled...
It was black and cold outside. I was all alone in my house. And it started again, I heard things, voices. A man, older than me command me to act against me. He was saying "Cut your flesh, pay for the sins you did," or some crap along those lines. I tried to focus on something else, but there was nothing to do, it wouldn't stop.
I got to the kitchen and grabbed two or three knives my father used when he cooked. (Now he threw them away...) I drew the blade on my arm a first time... Only a little bit of blood, maybe one drip or two, I felt nothing. One time again the cold steel cut my skin... And then, I really started. A frenzy, I cut more and more, deeper and deeper, always daring me. Blood started to drip, on me, on the floor, everywhere. I felt so good, probably because of the adrenaline rush.
Voice stopped, but still I cut and cut and cut. Then I had one of the worst idea I ever had. I started drinking. Blood still haven't stopped running down my arms and my legs. I knew I'd bleed more If I drank, but I didn't mind. (I should have...) And then it bled...
I was drunk and I felt really weak. I called one of my good friend. He knew I was serious and came right away with someone. He says he'll always remember what he have seen. There was blood everywhere, a lot of blood, I was sitting in the middle of the kitchen with the knife in my hands, with hundred of cuts on my body.
He made me sit on the chair and started to talk to me. My other friend was in my dad's room. I knew who he was calling, but he didn't want to told me. He was calling for help, 911. It was an emergency, but I was a bit too drunk to realise.
When the policemen entered my house, I could hear some : "Holy fuck..." and things along those lines. Then an ambulance came a little bit afterward to carry me. When I arrived at the hospital, they put three persons me to sew my wounds shut. Still, it took more than two hours. I had many cuts at many different places, so they couldn't give me anesthesia. That night, I got 100 stitches after loosing two liters of blood. That night, I almost killed myself.
The next morning, I met the psychiatrist, and seeing I arrived dead drunk, he let me go right away. It was a mistake, I wasn't okay.
One week passed, but I didn't cut. I know I had to get my stitches off. But as soon as I got them off, I started to cut again. Not because I heard things, I did it because it made me proud of myself. I went against nature, I could do, I loved it. My first cuts then were rather small, just enough to draw a little bit of blood.
But as time passed by, I felt the need to cut more and more. At first I would cut only once every night, but soon I realised that I would cut twice each night and one time in the morning. And two or three weeks after, I would cut at least five times a day. Cuts were way deeper two weeks later. I even cut through my muscle on my upper left arm. I knew I had to stop cutting before someone notice, but I couldn't stop, it was becoming an addiction.
Soon enough, deeper cuts started to bleed during the days, and blood started to pass through my clothes and everyone would see it. The psychiatrist of my school wanted to meet me as soon as I could. I went to see her the next day. She saw something was wrong and called the nearest psychiatric hospital. The next day, December 15, I was interned.
But I wouldn't stop cutting. I took pen caps, plastic knives, even my teeth and drew them on my arms or leg until it drew blood. But I realised I wouldn't exit this place soon if I continued to cut. So I stopped. It wasn't easy, but I did. I also received medication to stop the hallucinations I had. And it worked. Now, 43 days later, I'm still in that damn hospital, but I'm about to exit, only 3 days left if everything goes as it should.
I still feel like cutting sometimes. I take the knife in my hand and say to myself : "Max, stop that, you know you can't," and it works. I'm not supposed to drink while I take my medication, but I will if I don't cut. (Kind of a gift to myself...) When I look at all the scars I'll have, I'm not ashamed, I'm proud of myself. But when I see that I stopped completely that fast, it makes me even more proud.
submitted by: Anonymous
on: 07 Feb. 2006