There was a point where I was cutting throughout the day. Not just when I was upset or overwhelmed by the lack of feelings, but just randomly throughout the day. I would get the urge and excuse myself from what ever it was I was doing, find a safe place and fulfill said urge.
There were days where I would cut so often there would be cuts literally from my hip right down the side of my leg almost to my knee cap. I would quickly run out of room and end up cutting over cuts or switching legs for the space. Running out of useable space would be frustrating but since that last time I made sure I stayed level headed enough to keep it off my arms.
I wasn’t willing to risk getting caught again. That was a lecture I had no desire to hear again. The days I had to restrain from cutting to allow my body to heal were so difficult.
I would try to cause pain other ways. Scratching myself of biting by tongue or hand, the release wasn’t the same hell it wasn’t even close.
The second that I would notice empty space I would be locked in a room somewhere with the razor in hand.
There were times I would feel guilty after cutting. Knowing how those around me would respond to my behavior and reasoning for it would cause me to a level of panic I wouldn’t be in that moment prepared for. That’s when I would do the worst to myself.
In those unstable panic states I would just take it all out on myself one deep slash after another and then suddenly while watching my own blood run downward towards the floor I would find this sense of peace.
I don’t really know how to describe it but it was there and it was necessary. Watching the blood flow was like watching the actual stress, pain, numbness and rage leave my body. There was such relief to follow every drag of the blade.
“How will you know I am hurting, if you cannot see my pain? To wear it on my body tells what words cannot explain.” ~C. Blount