Self Harm

I havent cut for eight months. I used to cut daily, daily and deeply. My arm, though healing, is a think mass of white scars. They are parmanent and I will never be able wear a short sleeved top.

The morass of emotion that I experienced before the act of harming can be described, fear, confusion, despare and, perhaps, some anticipation . All these feelings engulfed me with the intensity of boiling acid. I would be dissociating, living in a dream of myself, I would be hallucinating. I would take my razor blade and hold it with hatred and desire, I would cut into the skin of my arm and I would bleed. The blood would pool and trickle in patterns across my arm. There was never any scent and I always yearned for the visceral smell of blood to accomany my dance with the razor. Cutting was sometimes an extasy and I would sprawl across the bed in a stupor of sexual delight.

Five, ten, twenty minutes of cutting and the emotional tulmit would quieten itself. The hallucinations would stop and I would become again someone human. I would place my razor blade gently and secretly away. I would roll down the sleeve of my shirt and then I would rejoin the world.