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Another Cut to Feel Alive

This, like many of my writings is about cutting in a ritualistic setting. In the case of this experience, I must say that if you ARE cutting, please make sure you are well aware of what EXACTLY you are doing. Accidents do happen, and I am the first to admit I have made a fair share of my own. Work with caution and patience-- or better yet, around those with medical background.

Another cupful of sorrow came over me with yet another set of job interviews leading to a dead end. I wanted to share the experience with my Master, but as he was invited out with his roommates, this left me to my own devices. I let his other roommate, a friend of mine, borrow the car late last night to go out and get something to eat. I was lonely in a manner of speaking, needing to cut—just to feel that energy leave my body in a more pure form—and then head to sleep. He would come home eventually, and if I had the strength and I wasn't dizzy from the rush, we could talk, or at least a bit once he woke up.

It had been a while since I had cut, felt the taste of blood, or even been with my Master in a setting where we could cut and help each other out, so to speak. I was upset, nervous, but excited at the same time. I felt just being in his room with the door closed, he was near, and that if I started to panic I had the means to fix myself. I smile a bit now because it was a 'What Would Master Do?' scenario.

I had decided; it needed to be done. I couldn't wait any more, and my eyes were already beginning to get teary-eyed in anticipation. Tossing my long-sleeved shirt on, I tiptoed out into the empty apartment and grabbed a few paper towels- just in case. It was so cold I wondered if my hands would work at all. A voice in my head called me my pet name and told me it was fine, that Master's energy was near, and I felt better about doing it.

Moving back into the bedroom I worked with almost a delicate haste—if you can picture that—setting out what I felt was to be the needed essentials and working my shirt back off onto the floor neatly. I crawled to the edge of the mattress and procured one of my favorite toys, a straight razor. I twirled it in my open hand carefully as if it were crafted with spider's web. I actually admired the item as if it were a Paul Klee painting—organic but mechanic. My chest felt heavy. Being so sick feeling as of late, barely able to make it up and down stairs without feeling like I needed to stop and cry, I felt trapped in my own body and my chest was the cause of my lack of release. I knew that is where I needed to cut this time. Not my arm where they could see, but close to my heart enough to feel as if the burden of a wounded heart were lessened by the act. I was trying to be a business professional in an hourly only world, and it wasn't cutting it—no pun intended. I was crushed by society and needed a boost.

Everyone has his or her problems, but even my personal standard of masturbation was no release. I wanted to fuck, to make love, to feel pretty as his tongue rolled across my pierced nipples, but the last thing I wanted after my outburst a few weeks before was to seem weak. I am weak. I needed the release to come and when I felt foolish about asking him, unable to get it from my one ally that seems to understand (at least in my mind, as others seem far too extreme and some not extreme enough), I felt worthless. I felt hopeless. In this instance, I began to plan further. Estimating what needed to be done and for how long, just to watch the blood trickle from my chest as I concentrated on breathing. How could I possibly do it enough to feel the rush of life without taking it all? I was starting to shake and could feel my breathing labor again. I was weak, what could I do now?

In the darkened room my flesh seemed the color of milk, the blade like the steel of a finely crafted weapon. I was a fucking goddess. I suppose in retrospect that is exactly what it was, a weapon to combat the feeling that my life's a sham, that all I do is for naught, and those around me do what they do more so to survive that to thrive along side me, as friends should. I didn't want to think of that now. This time was for me alone, now. The only audience was my fingers.

Setting the blade box off to the side of my paper towels I righted myself under the covers, shielding my lap—just in case it got too much and I needed to lay down. I set my right hand to my right breast, flicking the ring in it as if to tell my body I was in charge. With a deeper breath than I could muster as of late, my left hand set to strike my flesh. One slice and I could feel my heart skip. Oh how the release had already started! I needed another, and then another. Connecting smaller lines with smaller ones and crossing over them as if weaving Fate itself. I actually became proud of the little pattern I had started.

Then it happened, and I got dizzy.

Should I panic—no, Master wouldn't panic, he would laugh just a tiny bit and work to fix the problem. I had the answer already.

I lay back on the pillow, setting the cutting device on the paper towel, unsure of how messy I had become in my release. My breathing was a bit pained I'll admit, but I wasn't afraid. I felt safe, actually. Just keep breathing, feel your heartbeat growing steady again, and don't give in any farther than you can without a safety net.

I started to cough a bit and closed my eyes, feeling the blood trickle across my breast and into my cleavage.

"Up!" I ordered myself in my head. I even worked my way to the light switch and admired how pale my skin was against the red. I heaved a sigh of admiration, and the blood began to flow a bit faster down my right breast. I admired the deep scar on my left, the one that matches the one above my Master's heart, then slunk a few fingers down to catch my essence, bringing it to my lips as if an offering or prayer. I felt myself stagger a bit as if I were getting woozy from lack of sleep, so off went the lights again and I crawled into bed, admiring myself again.

I could feel a presence near me. It felt like my wings were gathered around me, a larger set cradling me close. It held me close and hushed me, almost rocking me to sleep, as a parent would comfort an aching child. Even though my Master was not here, his Love and his oath to guard and guide me had filled the cold room, making me strong. How did I ache, and feel alive! It was a blissful feeling, one of joy and of pain, of pleasure and of sorrow. I could only feel more pride were my Master at my side, drinking from me, absorbing my screams and causing the pain and worry to dissipate, making me feel powerful. I felt powerful just thinking of that.

Curling up further into bed after letting the still air dry my blood. I don't know when Master arrived home that night, but I could feel him moving about several times as I tried to sleep. He crept into bed finally, moving to put an arm around me, and I felt special even without his words. Poor dear was asleep it seemed like in a matter of moments. I hope he enjoyed his night out. Perhaps he'll tell me about it when he woke up.

I drifted back into slumber and moved into him a bit. It was awkward, having not done so in some time, but I Love my Master. I know on occasion he enjoys the company.

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submitted by: Anonymous
on: 04 March 2008
in Ritual

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