• 177,259 / 1,367,654
  • 84 / 7,726
  • 874 / 54,892

The Cutting Trials

On the outside I was just like all other 15-year-old girls: cell phone, my own room, you know the typical works of living in a top notch cookie-cutter neighborhood. On the inside things went dissimilar. Things were dissimilar. I hated myself. I hated everyone. Life was a blur that I could not simply wipe away. I did not want to join the statistics of committing suicide in the adolescent years nor did I even want to die. I just wanted to disappear. I still do now. Nothing was there to make me feel better. Until I went into my mum's car. 

My mum is having an affair. Archetypal for me so I'm not so vexed about it. She threatened her new boy toy with a trip to the hospital if he did not obey. To make her point clear she bought razors. Crisp, clean razors. I don't know what made me sneak into the her car and feel the shiny, smooth razors between my palms. It just felt right. I don't understand why I kept one razor in my hand when I walked back in the house. It just secured everything. I sat the razor on the floor of my bedroom then assembled myself across from its presence. It was like it had mocked me for use. I had heard of people cutting themselves to release pain, but I had always questioned the whole ordeal: "What was the point?" or "What could it do for me?". At that moment I didn't care what would happen afterwards. There was no turning back now.  

I managed to what seemed like scurry while sitting down in order to grab my new companion. The light shined on its never soiled material. I pressed it against my thigh. Hard. Waiting for it to take it all anyway. Waiting for it to make me disappear. I was still in my room though. I was still in my room yet something had had to have altered. I did not feel the same. I looked down at my thigh to some extent grinning at the blood dripping down. My index finger smeared blood from left to right. I grabbed to razor that was still clenched in my other hand and for some odd reason a burst of anger erupted from my cranium. I began to slash my legs from every direction not caring where it hit or what could happen in the long run. This began what I call the Cutting Trials.  

Everyday after school I would go and my room for a visit with my antidote for all my suffering. The suffering never left though. I cut and I cut yet nothing had changed. Why did I continue to cut without any good results? I was still depressed, I still hated myself, and life still hovered over my head like a black cloud. But I did not cut anymore for the thought of feeling blissful. I cut because I felt control. No one knew I cut and I could stop if I wanted. I handled my cutting. No one else. I had sensed a pinch of triumphant from my new after school activity.  

Then again nothing is as good as it seems. Those lovely pigments turned into horrid scars. I adored running my fingers across my legs and feeling the geographic mountain terrain of marks, but they were quite the hassle to cover. I live in an area where 109 degree weather is to some point "normal" for us during the summer. Blasted summer. I had cut marks, scars, and what not scribbled and imbedded into my skin. Wearing shorts to gym was a issue. Wearing skirts was an even bigger problem. In gym I had to sag my shorts a bit and I was extremely self-conscious about their movements when I ran. I'm in track so running hardcore was one of my not so "dangerous" hobbies. People never seemed to notice my legs, but no one ever stared at them. Skirts. I hated that I like skirts so much because I had to practically glue my eyes to my legs in order to make sure nothing was showing. If someone knew about my marks then my control would be taken away. So by all means covering those long legs was a priority. 

I had began to eat a lot of sugar and junk food during summer break which for some unexplainable reason made my leg veins literally double in size. I mentioned I did not want to die. So instead of wounding every part of my legs I purposely avoided those emerald veins that fenced my mountain topography. I did attempt to cut one of the veins when I had the urge to just vanished away permanently, but nothing seemed to have caused any near death experiences. I am still walking through the Cutting Trials pondering on what other extremes shall I add with my now old companion.  

If you are not willing to deal with the marks and having to hide them from others, I do warn you not to try cutting. Also deep cuts may or may not leave everlasting marks on your skin and may or may not be fatal.

Details

submitted by: Anonymous
on: 29 May 2008
in Ritual

Use this link to share:


Artist: Razada
Studio: In+my+bedroom
Location: California

Comments (0)

add a comment

There are no comments for this entry

Back to Top