Return of the Monster(Savior)
I remember when first time I ever cut. It was a 'testing the waters' type deal, where I saw the edge of a tape dispenser and wondered how it would feel to run it against my wrist.Evolution, has happened since then.
Since that day in 6th grade, cutting has become my way of coping with any emotional pain that veers in my direction. Anger,fear,guilty,worry,hopeless, you name it, I'll cut for it. But damn...if it just didn't FEEL so good. At times I thought I wanted to stop..I tried other things. Reading,writing, talking...but here was nothing, and is nothing, like the rush of a new blade across worried skin. And nothing compares to that first drip of red onto my skin. Nothing calms,quells and reassures like like a blade marathon.
Of course my friends and family don't like it. I did a week stint in an Adolescent Psychiatric Unit for my cutting. And for at least a month afterwards, I didn't cut.Mainly because I didn't want to go back into APU. It was too hard in there being away from my friends. That and, my roommate tried to kill me the night before I left. I told the doctors everything they wanted to hear, just so I could leave as soon as possible. I knew I wouldn't stop cutting, but I did try.
I remember how hard it was, when I felt worthlessness and pain creep into me. How hopeless I felt when it seems my meds where doing nothing but making me tired and queasy.I remember all the pain that rushed into me when I felt rejected, or like I was a burden to my friends...All that guilt and anger and fear and sadness. And every time I wanted that sweet rush to take it away... No. No. No.
But just last week, I couldn't TAKE it anymore. I was spent as far as building my feelings inside go. I could hold it anymore. And crying was out of the question because for some odd reason, I see crying as a sign of weakness. But only within myself. So, I took a trip to my local CVS, and nearly drooled at the sight of the razors I bought. Well...stole.
The whole ride home I felt like they were burning a hole in my pocket. I was so excited and relieved. I guess some people would find that a little warped, but clearly they don't understand. And that's okay. Finally, I got home, pulled out my towel and perched my arm on top of it. Nothing like new razors. It was like a welcome back party in my mind. I pulled the razor out of the box, and then out of the cardboard covering and held it into the light. Something about that sharp gleam always, and will always, bring my peace. And then I cut. Worse than ever before. I tried a few test cuts to get myself back into the mood. Quick, light slices on my left forearm (I'm right handed), and then finally, I let every emotion, every tear, every pain soaked memory wash over me and dragged the razor as fast and hard as I could across my forearm.
And the rush was like nothing before.
It was the first burst of white I had ever seen from my own skin. Like a blazing white eye had erupted onto my arm and it seemed like I was staring into my own blinded pain. My heart, my mind, everything raced in those moments and it felt...right. Eventually white soaked into red, and the cut started the bleed, but thats what I wanted. After what seemed like ages, but was only a few minutes, I covered the wound with my clean-up towel, and held it on for a moment. I couldn't keep myself from peeking at to see if it was still bleeding, and it felt good to see that it was.Hell, the whole thing felt good in general. Peace and relief and release flooded me the moment and raked the razor across my arm,and every part of me was satisfied. I can control this wound, this pain. I can begin it and end it. All of it is my decision. And nothing feels better sometimes, than having that control. And the blood, man, the blood. I found that I do like seeing my own blood, but it's not really the reason I cut. At the same time though, it signifies all of those terrible feelings just pouring out of me...and being blotted onto a towel.
So after a bit of basking, I blotted the wound with my clean up towel and dressed it. Later on that night, I realized that I probably needed stitches, but I opted for a homemade butterfly bandage. No WAY I was going back to the hospital so they could slap me into APU. Yeah, I know its not the safest way to manage your wounds, but I DID but some Neosporin on the would and cleaned it everyday. Hopefully, it'll have a sibling one of these days.
"You say I don't cry but I swear I do With tears of crimson from eyes etched into my skin"
submitted by: Anonymous
on: 01 May 2008