Cutting Edge

She stared at the razor. There was conflict raging within. Desperately she wanted to use it, to feel the cool blade on her warm skin, to see the crimson blood, but she knew it was bad. Fighting the urge she turned away and looked at herself in the mirror instead. Her auburn hair was greasy and pulled back into a sloppy braid. Her eyes were glassy from crying, but what stood out most was the red gashes in her arm. In isolated groups of three, the cuts decorated her wrist and doodles clung to the edges in black pen. Quickly she tugged at the edges of her sweatshirt pulling the sleeves over her arms to hid the marks. She didn't want to look at them, to see what she had done.

Feeling sick to her stomach she collapsed on her bed. She knew she should call him. She had promised she would, but not wanting to disappoint him again she ignored her phone. With nothing to do her mind wandered back to the razor sitting right next to her. She grasped it in her left hand and flung it across the room. Feeling only slightly better she turned her mind to the events before.

 

I'll continue if people like it. I'm writing it no matter what but I dont want to waste forum space and my time so if no one likes it I'll stop posting.

 

Thanks guys. It's pretty personal but I wanted to share it because people need to know what I'm dealing with and all the negative effects that go along with self harm.

 

It had started in the shower. All the numbness finally broke down and she could finally feel again. All the feelings she had shut out and avoided. They came back with a vengeance insisting on pain. She finished washing her hair and grabbed the soap. Hurriedly she soaped her legs and body and reached for her razor. She glided it up her calves and then her thighs finishing with her knees. Then balancing the razor in her hand she had just stared at it. And suddenly the isolation hit home.

She grasped the razor in her right hand and held out her left arm. She rested the blade on her arm and and hesitantly swiped it across the skin, bur it didn't work. Suddenly the tears came. She couldn't do anything, couldn't even get rid of the pain, couldn't even cut herself. She sat down in the tub and sobbed. Finally when she thought she was dine she rinsed off and stepped out of the shower. Drying off and putting on her clothes she couldn't get rid of her feelings. She felt alone and sad and pathetic and she knew just knew that she couldn't handle it anymore.

She padded across the hall to her room and crawled into bed. The crushing feeling wouldn't go away no matter how hard she tried to shake it. Reaching into her bed side table to grab her retainer she saw it again, the solution that would work this time. Moving silently she grabbed the pink razor and removed the cover. She held it in her palm just looking at it, the realization of what would come next sinking in.

Bracing herself she took the razor and pressed it into her left wrist. Determinedly she slashed sideways and watches as drops of blood appeared. Dropping the razor she just watched as the blood poured out and a searing pain raced through her arm. For a second she felt better, and then reality hit. The guilt hit her like a brick and suddenly she was freaking out. Snatching an old paper towel off her desk she pressed it to the wound trying to make it clot. Taking a water bottle and wetting down the paper towel she cleaned the cut and tried to relax. Sitting on her bed she pulled on her head phones and listened to the music, but she felt it. The desire to cut again. Trying to lose herself in the music she ignored it. After an hour the feeling would just not pass and she knew she needed help. She picked up the phone and called Charlie.

 

I don't speak that language 