♥

I feel very contemplative right now and observational. But it would seem that just as they do every other time, my fingers freeze just inches above the keys in the moments before I am about to dive into myself. I cross my ankles over one another and shift my weight onto the back of the chair, tilting my head upwards at the monitor. Staring back at me are the few sentences I have managed to written before I come to the realization that I’m still being taken over by the fear and by default, my mind has decided it’s easier to run.

Friday night I lost control of my senses completely and engaged in a self destructive behavior I have not returned to for over four years, I cut myself. I can not recall, nor do I think I knew in that moment, why I chose to return to this specific past addiction. I remember having anxiety as I so often do and as it grew, the awareness that I had consumed 200 calories that day was heightened as well. While I was panicking, at this point I had grown used to this daily night routine and quickly tried to busy myself with distractions. However, in conversation with someone very dear to me I was suddenly seized with two of the feelings that can be considered my least favorite out of a handful: helplessness, and guilt. I felt guilt because I was the reason for their suffering, and I felt helpless because on top of that, I had no power to change the situation. I grew increasingly angry at myself and at fate for allowing such things to happen.

I found myself walking past the boy whose friendship was shared mutually with both my brother and I and placing the set of screwdrivers in my hand. Once back in my room my movements became more desperate. The top of the blue pencil sharpner popped open easily, and with some turning of my tool, the blade fell quietly on to the carpet. Gathering it inbetween my fingers, I resumed my seating position and rolled up the ends of my red boxer shorts. (Which, it just occured to me is Ana’s color.) I pressed the tip of the blade down onto my flesh slowly, making notice of how deep the metal could probe, then drew it upwards at an equally sluggish speed. After this I pause waiting for the thin line to slowly appear on my skin, a pale pink, then suddenly, a rush of blood. For a second there is satisfaction. I think, “How strong you are to be able to draw blood, to dig beneath that which haunts you and reveal that which is real and true.“  I have completed the first step in my self injury that I am now remembering from my days spent in rehabilitation. Always take your time with the first one, bask in the rush of pleasure and pain, then destroy.

My fingers grip the blade more firmly this time, with purpose. My lips part, sucking in air between my teeth, then suddenly my jaw snaps shut and my arm lashes out at my right thigh. It is over in a few seconds but I feel as if I have been sitting there for an eternity. I stand up hesitantly, placing my aid throughout this self destruction in a place where I know no one will look. When I wander over to the mirror I notice that the blood has covered my entire thigh, that it is slyly crawling over the bones in my leg. I turn sideways and dig my fingers into the flesh on my stomach, Fucking fat piece of shit. Walking away from that mirror, I wonder what I have become.