Handle me with care….

I saw one of those annoying self care lists earlier. 

They irritate me because it’s beyond my comprehension that anyone believes a hot bath & some candles will stop the war in my head.

As I scrolled through the ridiculously naive advice, I realised I had my own version of self care. 

I was in fact, in the midst of a session. 

Self harm is my self care. 

It ticks all the boxes. 

It helps me feel calm 

in control

quiets my mind.
The ritual of setting up keeps me busy

Peeling back the foil to reveal a pristine blade

Arranging my towels 

Carefully selecting where I will begin

All of things offer distraction from my despair

panic 

loathing.

They provide comfort 

&

root my in the present moment. 
The bloods feels good; hot & slippery on my skin

The release gained from it flowing out it a weight lifted.

It’s so much better than crying.

That first strike that slides right into my flesh,

When I’m through the skin & my fat offers no restistance.

That wipes my thoughts clean 

It’s just me, 

my scalpel 

&

my blood. 
That’s what compassion is to me. 

It’s stainless steel disappearing into an open wound,

the instant when my cut starts to frighten me

But

I just keep going. 

you bleed just to know you’re alive…

self-harm is my abiding companion
it’s that nagging feeling that you’ve forgotten something vital
for me, that sensation is perpetual.

no setback is too small to trigger my blood lust
every emotion brings with it an attendant need to scar my body.

i miss my skin’s various & simultaneous stages of distress
gaping, fresh, untreated wounds
tidy blue stitches
thick scabs, ripe for picking
hot swollen masses of infected cuts.

i yearn for the pain
and
the itch
and
mess
and
blood

i dream of blood
flashbacks are dripping in it
inside my head is a swimming throng of red need.

the desire is pounding in my chest
each beat screams
cut.

not obeying is perverse
wielding a blade would silence everything
as my blood cooled
calm would rule.

it’s alright ma, i’m only bleeding…..

i slept relatively well last night

woke up early in pain

i have my period

i rarely have periods

but

i find them very hard to cope with.

i miscarried 12 years ago

just writing that is frightening

how can it be that long ?

and

yet

bad cramps

still feel like the beginnings of that awful experience

i can’t stop the memories

i bleed heavily

which

also serves

as a painful reminder

i should be able to manage this by now

but

i struggle

 

so, i got up

failed to wash

or

dress

made some dry toast

and

considered my options

i could allow the sadness to drown me

cry

& feel like dying

or

i could cut.

 

5 hours later

i am still cutting

it has been ridiculously easy today

much more so than usual

and

 it’s hard to stop

my skin is like butter

the blade just slips through

quicker

and smoother

than it should

the pain hasn’t troubled me

shiny globes of fat slip out

as i remove my blade

the blood is mesmerizing

hot tracks

flowing into already coagulating pools

tiny red fountains

rise

and fall

spraying patterns on my clothes

 

there is no feeling

like your own blood

flooding over your skin

the immense calm

it brings

is intoxicating

 

i’ve written all this before

or words to this effect

it never ends

certainly not today

i have the next stage mapped out

i must execute those plans

then, perhaps

 

i can rest

memories seep from my veins….

 

when i think about slicing into an arlready open wound,

i feel slighty sick.

my stomach  flutters horribly.

and yet,

when i do it,

i am calm.

watching the skin split wider,

my blade tear through another layer,

i am merely fascinated.

the deeper the shade of my blood,

the deeper the wound,

the more satisfied i become.

i can see the blue nestling in the corner of my current effort,

a vein presenting it self to me.

should i venture on ?

i don’t know how significant the vein  is.

i can’t tell for sure how much further down lies.

the body can be deceptive.

i know i would like the blood.

the fast, pulsing, unstoppable flow.

but i can’t calculate the consequences.

can i move fast enough, if action is required ,

or will i be mesmerized by rush of pure red relief ?

i know even as i contemplate it,

that cutting further is selfish.

it’s stupid.

but

i want to cleanse myself of these feelings.

i’m delaying making the decision.

i’m writing this

&

watching the blood.

the urge is getting stronger.

i can’t let myself off easily.

this is what i need.

this is who i am.

i hurt myself today

today i sat on my sofa

i calmly spread a towel across my knees

& rested my left arm upon it.

i removed the used,stained blade and slid on its fresh, sterile replacement.

i studied my arm,

selected my spot

just above the crook of my arm

i paused for a moment.

and, then, i made my first cut

no hysteria, no fuss.

just a calculated slice.

stamping my place,

red marks the spot

i continued to cut

slice after slice

until the wound began to gape.

i stopped,

lay down my scalpel

& lit a cigarette.

i smoked as i watched my blood flow down my arm.

and, then, i recommenced.

cut,cut,cut

wound opened wider

yellow globules of fat appeared.

again, i paused,

lit a cigarette,

and observed.

it continued.

i sat calmly on cutting & smoking.

releasing the thoughts i didn’t want to think,

allowing the sadness to soak into that bloodied towel.

today i sat on my sofa.