For a long time or at least what felt like a long time I couldn’t stop thinking about that day in my room with those scissors. The pain, the release, the calm, just all the feelings I seemed to be living with out.
Every time the emotions when into over drive or disappeared completely I was back to that moment sitting in the middle of my bedroom floor watching as the warm blood filled my palm. Calm and collected for the first time in what felt like forever. The dull sting reminded me I was alive and could feel things.
It didn’t take long for the thoughts to become actions. I went from scissors to paper clips. They were small and easy to hide plus the marks they left weren’t that bad and with my clumsy ways could be easily explained. Much like a drug a little at a time the action becomes less helpful so you upgrade.
I quickly went from paper clips to single edge razor blades. Yeah the cuts were worse but the release was stronger and that’s all I was concerned about. I wore long sleeves most of the time anyway so it was fine. I got caught once by a teacher at school. She saw the cuts (mostly healed and faded) on my arm and asked I just said “the cat scratched me” and moved on. She didn’t though. She called home and talked to my mom.
Needless to say when I got home that day my mother wasn’t too happy with me. She asked me over and over again what I was thinking all I could come up with was ” I don’t know”. I did know though I just couldn’t say it out loud.
I know for her that talk was supposed to give her answers and show me that it was wrong and I needed to stop and just talk to some one but that’s not what I got from the conversation. All I took from it was “your not doing a good job at hiding this”. So that night as I got ready for bed I decided it was time for a change and cut my legs instead. Much easier to hide less likely to be accidentally seen.
“The water is clear but your wrists are stained. Your face is happy but your eyes say pain.”