comfort hasn’t failed to follow so far

i have a large oval shaped peach tin. it is pretty. it originally contained a selection of almond hand products,meaning it smells nice.
it now contains a selection of very differnt products.
hundreds upon hundreds of used blades. neatly packed into little sleeves, in groups of five. taped together and hoarded, for reasons i do not completely understand.
they live along side various needles.
some large hollow needles,which pierce my skin like butter and leave satisfying holes.
smaller,more precise needles designed to draw blood from veins.
there is a cheery collection of colourful dressmaking pins. ideal for creating my own bizarre flesh pin cushion.
nestled amongst these items is a jewellery box. a long thin box that once proffered a gold bracelt. now the perfect storage solution for scalpel handles. two sleek insturments, one always weilding a blade. ready. it’s partner empty. waiting.
and of course, the final treat in my box of treasures. the thing that makes my stomach fizz to think about,
hundreds of fresh,sterile 10a swann & morton scalpel blades. waiting patiently inside their gold foil.

a sick little tin. my greatest ally & worst foe.
i am constanlty aware of it’s presence in the next room. can not for one second stop thinking about how easy it would be to flip off that lid. there is no escaping the the memories of my ritual. breaking the seal on a new blade, peeling back it’s shiny sheath. loading my tool of choice.

i want to feel the anticipation as i scan my skin for the right spot. steady my hand, clear my mind….

and strike.

one quick fluid motion. total control. the hot flash as i slice through my flesh. the indescribable relief as the wound gapes and my blood emerges. dark, dark blood. filling the gash. slowly pooling before sliding down my skin. warm, wet release.

i’d watch. savour the visual impact of the crimson stripe on my pale body. wallow in the moments peace. let the blood flow, drip to the floor. just for a moment, until the urge returns…..

and strike

pushing harder. seeking more destruction.
deeper, bigger,wider,better.

and strike
and strike
and strike
and strike
and strike
and strike
and strike

until the blood pours. skin stained red, hands sticky, clothes sodden.
pain,fear,saddness seeping from my wounds.

it has been 11 days.

i have a pretty peach tin, but i must not touch it.

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One Response to “comfort hasn’t failed to follow so far”

  1. […] *You Should See My Scars poignant post could be a trigger for those who self-harm, but it celebrates an 11 day milestone in Comfort Hasn’t Failed To Follow So Far. […]

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