Status: in the making
Veggie Head
It Burns...
February 6, 2010
The spot, just below where your hand meets your forearm. All I can do is think about it. I'm so...dissapointed in myself. I'm scared. I don't know what had happened. This has never happened.
Would you like to know?
Well, even if you don't, I'm telling you.
I cut myself.
Intentionally.
My mind keeps yelling at me.
Cutter.
Cutter.
Cutter.
It doesn't stop. Each time it's said, it feels like someone is stabbing my heart.
It started with stress. Sort of. I was tired, and the kid I was babysitting would NOT go to bed. I was sick of trying to get him to go to sleep. Finally, he did, and I went out to the living room. I sat on the automan and I felt so exhausted. I looked up and saw the kid's pocket knife on the coffee table.
I was flicked it open and checked it out, and then I accidentally swiped my thumb across the blade. I thought "Wow, thats pretty sharp." I messed with it even more, but by then I was so exhausted, so tired, and so fed up with everthing, I lifted my sleeve, and I pressed the knife into my skin.
I felt the sharp pain of it breaking the skin, and I gasped.
Half from the pain, half from surprise.
Surprise that one little cut could bring so much relief.
I stared at it for a few seconds, then massaged the cut, making it bleed. Then I took the knife again. And I cut again, repeating the process.
5 little cuts, not even a half inch long. When it happened, it brought relief. Relief from everything that was happening. Liking the guy that I all ready lost and probably wouldn't get back, the blurriness each day had ended in, the dull pain constantly in my head. Everything. I felt so...refreshed.
That is, until it dawned on me what I had done.
What I had told myself I would never do.
I told myself I would never cut, I would never have any type of poor coping technique like an eating disorder.
And now, I did the thing that most people do when they can't deal with their problems. I cut.
Cutter.
Cutter.
Cutter.
You're weak.
You failed.
Weak.
Failiure.
Cutter.
The weird thing is, I called out to Dark just before I did it. And he always answers. He always reassures me that he's there, that he'll protect me. But then, right before I pressed the knife into my skin, I called out to him.
"Dark, are you there?"
I could feel his pressence, but he didn't reassure me. He didn't say, "I'm here," It felt like he was watching. Like he was looking down on me. Pitying me.
That's when I cut.
After I was done, after the dissapointment and fear came, my head fell and I wanted to cry. I called out to him again.
"Dark, save me."
But he didn't answer, still. I could feel him, but he was looking down on me.
Just, everything feels like its going to shit, and nothing's working out.
I've NEVER felt this way before, and it scares me just how much all of this is affecting me.
What scares me more though, is just how much I want to press that knife back into my skin.
The spot, just below where your hand meets your forearm. All I can do is think about it. I'm so...dissapointed in myself. I'm scared. I don't know what had happened. This has never happened.
Would you like to know?
Well, even if you don't, I'm telling you.
I cut myself.
Intentionally.
My mind keeps yelling at me.
Cutter.
Cutter.
Cutter.
It doesn't stop. Each time it's said, it feels like someone is stabbing my heart.
It started with stress. Sort of. I was tired, and the kid I was babysitting would NOT go to bed. I was sick of trying to get him to go to sleep. Finally, he did, and I went out to the living room. I sat on the automan and I felt so exhausted. I looked up and saw the kid's pocket knife on the coffee table.
I was flicked it open and checked it out, and then I accidentally swiped my thumb across the blade. I thought "Wow, thats pretty sharp." I messed with it even more, but by then I was so exhausted, so tired, and so fed up with everthing, I lifted my sleeve, and I pressed the knife into my skin.
I felt the sharp pain of it breaking the skin, and I gasped.
Half from the pain, half from surprise.
Surprise that one little cut could bring so much relief.
I stared at it for a few seconds, then massaged the cut, making it bleed. Then I took the knife again. And I cut again, repeating the process.
5 little cuts, not even a half inch long. When it happened, it brought relief. Relief from everything that was happening. Liking the guy that I all ready lost and probably wouldn't get back, the blurriness each day had ended in, the dull pain constantly in my head. Everything. I felt so...refreshed.
That is, until it dawned on me what I had done.
What I had told myself I would never do.
I told myself I would never cut, I would never have any type of poor coping technique like an eating disorder.
And now, I did the thing that most people do when they can't deal with their problems. I cut.
Cutter.
Cutter.
Cutter.
You're weak.
You failed.
Weak.
Failiure.
Cutter.
The weird thing is, I called out to Dark just before I did it. And he always answers. He always reassures me that he's there, that he'll protect me. But then, right before I pressed the knife into my skin, I called out to him.
"Dark, are you there?"
I could feel his pressence, but he didn't reassure me. He didn't say, "I'm here," It felt like he was watching. Like he was looking down on me. Pitying me.
That's when I cut.
After I was done, after the dissapointment and fear came, my head fell and I wanted to cry. I called out to him again.
"Dark, save me."
But he didn't answer, still. I could feel him, but he was looking down on me.
Just, everything feels like its going to shit, and nothing's working out.
I've NEVER felt this way before, and it scares me just how much all of this is affecting me.
What scares me more though, is just how much I want to press that knife back into my skin.