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My favorite color.

Well, I generally do not think of myself when I think of people who cut. I used to know a girl, who would cut herself all the time, and then she would run to someone, and be as pitiful as she could. I would think to myself, gee, I never want to be bunched in with her. Today, I found that there are many reasons to cut. She cut to hide emotional pain. I cut partially by accident today and then solely because I loved the color that my blood was when it came out. Even more, I loved everything about it once it dried.
So, now, to give you all the details. I had gone through the usual school day, for the first six periods of the day. After fooling around with some friends at lunch, it was time to be off for my seventh period class, chorus. There I found a little broken pencil, with splinters sticking out at al sorts of jagged angles. Absent mindedly, I began playing with it, and then, crack!
I looked down at my hand and saw a shallow little cut of about one inch in length. It just barely got through all the epidermis. I sat in another world, completely transfixed with the incredible scene I saw inside my thumb. And then for some reason, I was surprised when it began to bleed. At first it was just a small trickle, barely enough to fill in the cut. But it soon formed a small bubble as I gently applied pressure to it.
It swooped down my thumb leaving an astounding path behind it, and I couldn't help but stare at it, watching my blood fill in the gaps between the ridges of my skin. If I cleaned it, it would bleed for a little bit longer, and then stop once it had reached the same point once more.
And so passed the rest of my school day. In the rest of my class (well, just math actually, it being the only one left) I sat there, cleaning it, watching it bleed a bit more and then staring some more. By now, I was also becoming aware of something. The actual cutting had hardly hurt. I was a bit worried about getting lead poisoning when I had first done it, but as I thought back to it, I had to wonder what even caused me to notice it.
I left school and went home, where I thought of extending it just a little farther. Each time I thought of doing that, I said to myself, "No. You've already cut far enough. You do not need to cut anymore." I went through my usual routine at the computer, and exercising, finding the idea more and more appealing. Soon, I was having arguments with myself. Should I do it, or would it be better to leave it as it is now?
Well, eventually, my cutting side won over, and I found myself looking around for something sharp, and preferably clean to do it with. I knew that I didn't want to make the cut much larger than it already was. In fact, I realize now that my whole purpose was to see that beautiful shade of red once more. Well, I found myself a knife, some what dull, but serviceable, and with a locking blade. As soon as it was open I set to work, just stopping to turn on a few more lights.
Almost instantly, I noticed a huge line, crossing my thumb from the top down to almost the socket. And much to my dismay, it disappeared completely, leaving only a white mark for the briefest moment. Not to be let down by myself, I gave it a few more tries. After several minutes, I had only extended the line about half of an inch or so. I suppose a better blade, like a craft knife or razor blade, might be more suited to such a purpose. Regardless, I failed to reproduce that most lovely color. And not to be stupid, I followed up with a small clean-up.
Not having cut very deep, I really only needed to clean out my cut. For this, I turned to Solarcaine, a mild antiseptic spray. I shook up the can, aimed at my thumb, and let loose. And then winced immediately after doing so. I can say without a doubt that this was the most uncomfortable part of the process. It wasn't exactly a pain, but it didn't feel too good. After the first shock, I actually came to find it a fairly interesting sensation.
I don't think it's in my future to become a chronic cutter. After all that could mess up any tattoos I might get. But I don't find myself truly opposed to it as I once did. Before today, I thought that it was something that only people with depression, or other psychological disorders did. Now, I can think of this day, and say to myself, maybe there are a few others like me. People who love the colors, the sensations, the process. And that calms me down just a little bit. If there is a next time, I definitely will be better prepared, and use a decent blade. But still, I won't go very deep, just enough to see blood.

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submitted by: Anonymous
on: 19 Feb. 2006
in Ritual

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