A year ago I sat calmly on my couch, the tv down low. Bottle of wine open next to me. As I stared at the knife. The towels to clean up after. Turning my phone off for no interruptions.
I started counting the healed scars on my body. Well over 100 self made cuts. Words, patterns and random. Tears sliently falls down my cheeks, I didn’t realise I was crying until the tears were falling hard. I was lost, I didn’t know how to stop, so down went another glass of wine, trying desperately to numb the pain.
Realising it wasn’t working, I picked up the knife and began slowly cutting my legs and stomach. There was no pain. No words at that time to describe the intense relieve seeing the blood. Then the pain. This is a pain I could handle. Unlike the pain in my head, this pain I could understand. Never deep enough to seek medical help, yet deep enough to work.
I lay there watching myself bleed. Knowing it was time I reached for the towels and started cleaning and bandaging my many new wounds.
Then the emotional pain came back. The relief was gone and then I knew I was in trouble…..
I’m scared to hit the publish button but I will. I’m prepared for the judgements, I’ve heard them all before. Attention seeker, nutcase, crazy are just a few. But I’m proud to say that was the last time I cut. A year ago today