I pick up the knife. Today is a bad day. I feel low, tearful, and ashamed. I must not cry though. I cannot allow myself to cry. Crying is bad he said. Telling people is bad. Talking to people is selfish he said. I am a burden.
I feel the tears in my eyes as I roll up my sleeve. I know I shouldn’t do what I am about to do but I can’t stop myself. It is the only way I have to cope. It is the only way I have ever had to cope.
The blade touches my skin on my left arm. Just lightly at first. I know that if I press harder it will bring pain, but I also know it will bring relief.
I want that relief. Right at this moment I want it more than I have ever wanted anything. I take a deep breath. The blade touches my skin again. Harder this time. A slight scratch.
I pull the blade back over the same piece of skin and push down even harder. This time I draw blood. I can feel the pain, the sting, but I don’t care. This pain is what I need right now. Physical pain. It makes the emotional pain go away. I push harder.
At this moment I don’t know whether I am trying to cope with the pain of what he did or if I am punishing myself. I don’t care. I have to make what I feel inside go away. I will do anything to make it go away, just for a little while.
More blood. More pain. I move onto a new patch of skin. I don’t want to go too deep in one spot. If I cut too deep people will find out I am cutting. I don’t want that.
I stop feeling the pain the knife is creating. I know this is a sign I have to stop now or I will do some serious damage. The last cut I have just done is going to scar. I can feel it. I only lost focus for a minute! Damn! I must make sure I can hide that. Long sleeves, Make Up, Excuses. I am good at hiding my scars. I have had plenty of practice.
I stop the bleeding. I clean and dress my wounds and roll down my sleeve. I feel thankful it is a cold day. No-one will think it is weird I am wearing long sleeves today. These cuts are going to hurt later though. I will regret this later.
I feel the relief. The sadness inside me eases a little. The pain inside subsides a tiny bit. I scrub the knife clean and hide it away in my secret place ready for next time.
At least I didn’t cry, I think. At least I wasn’t selfish. At least I haven’t burdened anyone.
At least I can wear my smile today. I’m fine.
From every wound there is a scar, and every scar tells a story.
Thanks for reading.