This Is How I Disappear

Singing songs that make you slit your wrists, it isn't that much fun staring down a loaded gun...
 

You feel the most anxiety right before the first slice. Then you do it. Hard and fast. Then you're okay. You start to see the white-ish bubbles of fat under the thin layer of skin and your heart beats faster. You're surprised though, because the blood doesn't come rushing right away. It comes gradually. Then you slice again. Hard and fast. And again and again and again. Then it won't stop bleeding. So you sit there and just watch the blood trickle down your body, mesmerized at it. You're tempted to see how much you can bleed, but you realize the blood is drying. Once you finally snap out if your own little world of blood rivers and scar mountains, you start to panic. You turn on the shower and rinse off as much blood as possible. You feel sad though, watching it all fade away into pink waters, like you're losing a part if you. Once the water starts to hurt the cuts, you know you're back to the real world. When you realize what you've done, you can't even stand, so you just sit there and let the water run pink. You just sit there and cry because you feel the need to do this to your own body. And you can't stop it, but you wish you could.

 

Recovery is such an ugly word.
somethingbecomingnothing somethingbecomingnothing
22-25, F
1 Response Jan 15, 2013

Thank you, I know exactly how you feel I used to cut my shoulders on a regular basis in the shower anf I loved watching the blood trickle down my arms into the drain. I'd take the razorblade press down really hard and cut the skin and the moment when you first cut its bliss watching the water turn a crimson red.

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Ditto