Blade

My hand itches with the need to grab the blade from its hiding spot under my draw. To drag the blade across my thigh, and to see the blood poor from the tiny cut I have made on my leg. To just find some kind of release from the roller coaster of emotions I am feeling. The need grows inside me with every second that passes by. The need to pull down my pants, the need to walk over to my pine chest of drawers, and just reach under, and grab the hidden blade. My skin itches with the need to feel the blade across my skin. I just want to see the blood poor out of me, and imagine it is all the bad emotions inside of me escaping. So I can be happy once again.

I resist, and I stay in my spot. I refuse to let myself sink to that level again. As much as I want to feel the blade slice across my skin I know I mustn’t hurt myself again. The tears begin to pool in my eyes, as I think of all the people I would hurt if I did let myself cut. Just to let the blade go that little t bit deeper than necessary. To watch as more blood than usual pours out of me, as my life runs red down my leg, and soaks my sheets. My hand itches for the blade again. To make this fantasy a reality, but I stop myself at the last minute. I have another option before I should reach for the blade. I grab my phone and call the person who means the most to me.

He answers the phone, and we talk. We talk like nothing is wrong, but I know he can sense there is something wrong with me. I was not going to worry him with my problems though. I don’t want to worry him. He already worry’s too much about me any way. The conversation lasts for eight minutes. Nowhere near long enough to make me forget about my problems. Nowhere near long enough to make the itch go away. I know that taking that blade and slicing it across my skin will only make things worse. It will only upset him more.

So I sit, and I write. I try and make my problems go away with pure thought. It is difficult, but not impossible. I will not sink, but I will arise from the ashes like PHOENIX.