One last cut can’t hurt…
As the hours pass I am unable to sleep,
These are the nights I fear the most.
These are the nights where you really learn about yourself,
Where you have time to analyze life.
As I look down onto my arms, my wrists,
My bicep, my legs, the back of my knees…
Every line has a story to tell,
These stories seem to spawn from hell.
My hand trembles as I feel the cold touch of steel touch my skin. What a painful pleasure. An addiction I tried to break but never separated myself from; the broken pieces still hanging on for dear life. One little cut, that’s all I need… no one will know. I’ll make sure of it. Nice and small, right there, right behind the knee, no one will ever see. Oh how the razor taunts me, speaks to me. “Come on, one last time for old times sake. You’re a good liar, you’ve lied about the mysterious cuts, scratches, scars, strangulation marks, you’ve lied about them all before. I taught you how to lie. I taught you quite well. So how about it..? One last time? For me?” I have to stop myself. I can’t fall back into what I once was… I can’t go back to that night, the night I almost went too far… the night…
I quickly searched my dad’s toolbox. Where the hell is it? I know he has a box cutter here somewhere; I’ve used it before. Ouch! Dammit, I found the box cutter. I suck my finger tasting the sweet, sweet blood knowing soon there will be more to feast on…. MUCH more. I quickly pocket the box cutter and walk slowly to my room. As I open the door I smell the isopropyl alcohol, the slight smell of butane gas also fills my nostrils. As I flame sterilize the blade I fantasize about the feeling, how I will feel after releasing this pain. How I will feel once the endorphines come rushing out to release pain, stress, tension. How the endorphines will make me happy once more, make me happy enough to make it. Make it another month… Empty promise, I know it is. I’ll be lucky to last a week tops without this sweet drug, this synthetic high. Oh well, the future doesn’t matter, all that matters is now. All that matters is the pain I feel NOW, not later.
The alcohol turns to steam and sizzles as it touches the red hot blade further sterilizing it and in turn cooling it. 1…..2..slice. Cringe. The razor still held firmly in my hand. Mmm, sweet satis….what… where is it?!?! Where is my high?!?! I don’t want to chase my times prior but I just nee–slice. Slice. Slice, slice, slice. Ahhh. The warm blood trickles down my arm as I hold it up to my mouth to feast. Mmmm yes, the life force is so sweet. Too much, I want to throw up now. I shouldn’t still be bleeding. What the fu— too many too deep. Oh god, I’m going to die aren’t I. I have bitten off too much this time haven’t I? Getting weaker… I turn off the Bunsen burner, wouldn’t want a death AND a fire. I crawl my way to my sewing kit and pull out a leather needle and some thread. I crawl to my bed and yank my sheets. The pillow hits the ground. This will be my resting place if I don’t succeed.
I stitch myself up like a master seamstress. Getting cold. Really cold. Darkness is setting in, Thanatos is that you? Please send a reaper to do your bidding. I’ve always wanted to feel the cold androgynous kiss of a Grim Reaper. I can’t keep my eyes open much longer… my world…
is
going
…
I wake up a few hours later. My self stitching saved my life. Where is that hoodie; I need to hide these wounds. That was fun, I’ve gotta do this again I promise myself. As for now, I’m hungry. I hope dinner is cooked…
my god that was so emo.
Ive been through that whole “cutting” thing before and I think your story was beautiful
Thanks it means a lot to me actually. I am so glad I am finally over that stage in my life though. Now I can finally move on.
Its good that you feel that you can move on, Im verry happy for you
Many thanks. Help spread the word for my blog if it isn’t too much trouble >.<
No trouble at all
Thanks a bunch
your welcome
This is an astonishingly beautiful piece of writing, full of profound emotion: the account of “last night”, then the flashback to an earlier time. Nights when you lie alone reconnecting with the past, however painful … those are astonishing times, reminding us who we have been, reassuring us of who we can become.
<>
Everything that we have been remains a part of us.
But only what we choose to do now defines who we are becoming.
<>
This is exactly how the echoes call from the past.
You write brilliantly. But of course you do. This is *your* life.
<>
Don’t we find ourselves thinking some weird shit? I never cut myself, but I once found myself thinking that if I did (and I wouldn’t be doing it intending to survive) I should put some newspaper down on the floor to protect the carpet. The thought shocked me so much I came out in a cold sweat: I had never seriously considered doing it, and suddenly I found that I was (in this freaky-weird way) and that was a shock – a cold sweat shock.
<>
I recognise this. The fear gives way so quickly to the desire to go there all over again.
But eventually you have been there and seen it all. There’s no need to go back there again. It’s time to move on.
<>
This I can relate to. In any addiction, you want more, and more, and more – and yet the satisfaction is more and more elusive. In the end there is no satisfaction and every sweet taste just leaves you wanting more. You can give up for months, then “just for old time’s sake” gets the better of you. Finally you escape the trap not by resisting but by moving on, by finding new stuff to live for, and finding *real* satisfaction there.
<>
This is *exactly* how living with an addiction feels.
<>
I would kiss every one of those precious scars, without a word.
<>
You still have it there; you still press it against your skin and wonder. There’s still some of the paraphernalia of my old addiction hidden away (like it always was) around the house. Occasionally I stumble across it while looking for something else. Sometimes I even get it out, just to look. Throwing it away would seem wrong somehow, almost weak, so it sits around, like the last photograph of an old lover.
Toozy, be strong. You are a really beautiful, sensitive, creative guy. I wish you all good things.
This is an astonishingly beautiful piece of writing, full of profound emotion: the account of “last night”, then the flashback to an earlier time. Nights when you lie alone reconnecting with the past, however painful … those are astonishing times, reminding us who we have been, reassuring us of who we can become.
” An addiction I tried to break but never separated myself from ”
Everything that we have been remains a part of us.
But only what we choose to do now defines who we are becoming.
” Come on, one last time for old times sake. …how about it..? One last time? For me? ”
This is exactly how the echoes call from the past.
You write brilliantly. But of course you do. This is *your* life.
” I turn off the Bunsen burner, wouldn’t want a death AND a fire. ”
Don’t we find ourselves thinking some weird shit? I never cut myself, but I once found myself thinking that if I did (and I wouldn’t be doing it intending to survive) I should put some newspaper down on the floor to protect the carpet. The thought shocked me so much I came out in a cold sweat: I had never seriously considered doing it, and suddenly I found that I was (in this freaky-weird way) and that was a shock – a cold sweat shock.
” My self stitching saved my life… That was fun, I’ve gotta do this again I promise myself. ”
I recognise this. The fear gives way so quickly to the desire to go there all over again.
But eventually you have been there and seen it all. There’s no need to go back there again. It’s time to move on.
” Mmm, sweet satis… what… where is it?!?! Where is my high?!?! ”
This I can relate to. In any addiction, you want more, and more, and more – and yet the satisfaction is more and more elusive. In the end there is no satisfaction and every sweet taste just leaves you wanting more. You can give up for months, then “just for old time’s sake” gets the better of you. Finally you escape the trap not by resisting but by moving on, by finding new stuff to live for, and finding *real* satisfaction there.
” How the endorphines will make me happy once more, make me happy enough to make it. Make it another month… Empty promise, I know it is. I’ll be lucky to last a week tops without this sweet drug, this synthetic high. Oh well, the future doesn’t matter, all that matters is now. ”
This is *exactly* how living with an addiction feels.
” I look down onto my arms, my wrists, My bicep, my legs, the back of my knees… Every line has a story to tell, These stories seem to spawn from hell. ”
I would kiss every one of those precious scars, without a word.
” My hand trembles as I feel the cold touch of steel touch my skin … Oh how the razor taunts me ”
You still have it there; you still press it against your skin and wonder. There’s still some of the paraphernalia of my old addiction hidden away (like it always was) around the house. Occasionally I stumble across it while looking for something else. Sometimes I even get it out, just to look. Throwing it away would seem wrong somehow, almost weak, so it sits around, like the last photograph of an old lover.
Toozy, be strong. You are a really beautiful, sensitive, creative guy. I wish you all good things.