The papers say 'Johnny won't you come back home'
Gravity don't mean to much to me
My breath quickened as I brought the razor down to my skin. I was tentative at first, then I pushed the razor full force into my arm. The pain brought tears to my eyes, but the tears were just a reflex I liked the pain. I bit my lip and tilted my head back as I slowly carved the letter 'R' into my arm, by the time I reached the letter 'N' I was trying to repress the moans that were building in the back of my throat. I looked down at my handy work and saw that I carved a word into my arm: RUN. I smiled fondly at the dark red liquid that was dripping down my arm.
You can say I'm kind of a pain junkie (or that I have a pain fetish, but I saw pain junkie because it sounds less gross), I don't know why but pain just really turns me on and I feel like such a freak for it. But that wasn't the reason I put 'run' into my arm. It kind of explains itself, I just wanted to run. I can't explain it I just needed to get away. I run away from home often, it has been seven months since the last time I ran away, this is the longest I ever went and when I can't run away I do the second best thing and cut myself.
Don't get me wrong I love my mom, I live with her in a small two bedroom apartment in Brooklyn, but like I said before I just can't explain why I need to run. I'm never gone for long though, my mom goes all out putting up posters and ads in the news paper and I'm always brought home by the police, and every time I see my mom's face when I'm brought home it breaks my heart. My mom is very over protective of me, I would have had an older sister but she was born with the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck and died six minutes after her birth, and since then my mom would never let me out of her sight, and since she keeps an eye on me during the day I always ran away during the night.
My mom is devastated every time I run away, she doesn't understand why I want to leave her so badly. But its not that I want to leave her I just need to to get away, but not to really run away from something, maybe to run to something but I just don't know what that something is.
My mom knows I cut myself, she caught me doing it after I haven't run away for two months. She burst into tears, wrapping me in a hug, asking me why I felt the need to do this to myself. All I could do was mumble was that I really needed to run. After that she took me to therapy, my therapist was a nice lady but she didn't understand me, she said that cutting was linked to depression and asked me if I was sad, I told her I wasn't really sad I had everything I could ever want, but I just needed to run. She told my mom and I that it would be a good idea for me to sign up for track, so I did. But it's not the same, track is a competition and all you do is run from an assigned point A to an assigned point B, when you run away you don't know where point B is and that's part of the fun, the rush you feel as you rush into I new world.
The kids at school think I'm a freak. They hear about my annual disappearances and they just can't understand why I do it. One time a group of kids tried to push my out of a window, they told me that I should want to be pushed out of a window since I sneak out of them to run away all the time. Luckily I was saved by the teacher who arrived late to the class. The kids also think I'm a freak because someone punched me in the ribs one time and I actually moaned. So not only do I get shit for running away, every time I get beat up they say 'I bet you're getting a boner from this, freak',
or some shit along those lines. Just so you know not all pain feels good, sometimes it fucking hurts.
I got up and walked to the bathroom, blood now covering my arm, hand and leaving a trail on the floor. I looked into the mirror and saw Johnathan Block, a sixteen year old boy with a pale complexion, messy dirty blond hair, big brown eyes and scarred skin. Every day I stood in front of the mirror and tried to pick out a trait I liked about myself, my therapist told me to do this, she said it would boost my self esteem, but I just couldn't find anything that I could say I liked.
I sighed and went to lie down on my bed, smiling as felt the blood still flowing from my arm.
You can say I'm kind of a pain junkie (or that I have a pain fetish, but I saw pain junkie because it sounds less gross), I don't know why but pain just really turns me on and I feel like such a freak for it. But that wasn't the reason I put 'run' into my arm. It kind of explains itself, I just wanted to run. I can't explain it I just needed to get away. I run away from home often, it has been seven months since the last time I ran away, this is the longest I ever went and when I can't run away I do the second best thing and cut myself.
Don't get me wrong I love my mom, I live with her in a small two bedroom apartment in Brooklyn, but like I said before I just can't explain why I need to run. I'm never gone for long though, my mom goes all out putting up posters and ads in the news paper and I'm always brought home by the police, and every time I see my mom's face when I'm brought home it breaks my heart. My mom is very over protective of me, I would have had an older sister but she was born with the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck and died six minutes after her birth, and since then my mom would never let me out of her sight, and since she keeps an eye on me during the day I always ran away during the night.
My mom is devastated every time I run away, she doesn't understand why I want to leave her so badly. But its not that I want to leave her I just need to to get away, but not to really run away from something, maybe to run to something but I just don't know what that something is.
My mom knows I cut myself, she caught me doing it after I haven't run away for two months. She burst into tears, wrapping me in a hug, asking me why I felt the need to do this to myself. All I could do was mumble was that I really needed to run. After that she took me to therapy, my therapist was a nice lady but she didn't understand me, she said that cutting was linked to depression and asked me if I was sad, I told her I wasn't really sad I had everything I could ever want, but I just needed to run. She told my mom and I that it would be a good idea for me to sign up for track, so I did. But it's not the same, track is a competition and all you do is run from an assigned point A to an assigned point B, when you run away you don't know where point B is and that's part of the fun, the rush you feel as you rush into I new world.
The kids at school think I'm a freak. They hear about my annual disappearances and they just can't understand why I do it. One time a group of kids tried to push my out of a window, they told me that I should want to be pushed out of a window since I sneak out of them to run away all the time. Luckily I was saved by the teacher who arrived late to the class. The kids also think I'm a freak because someone punched me in the ribs one time and I actually moaned. So not only do I get shit for running away, every time I get beat up they say 'I bet you're getting a boner from this, freak',
or some shit along those lines. Just so you know not all pain feels good, sometimes it fucking hurts.
I got up and walked to the bathroom, blood now covering my arm, hand and leaving a trail on the floor. I looked into the mirror and saw Johnathan Block, a sixteen year old boy with a pale complexion, messy dirty blond hair, big brown eyes and scarred skin. Every day I stood in front of the mirror and tried to pick out a trait I liked about myself, my therapist told me to do this, she said it would boost my self esteem, but I just couldn't find anything that I could say I liked.
I sighed and went to lie down on my bed, smiling as felt the blood still flowing from my arm.