Sun scars

Sitting outside on the back deck, drinking my tea and chainsmoking. I am alone, so I pull up my skirt so that I can look at my right thigh. There is a shallow cut from the night before last, and several stripes from the razor blades I purchased last night. The sun illuminates my skin and exposes what I couldn’t see before whenever I looked at myself inside – tens of dozens of faded, white scars. Looking at my thigh in my room, I thought that all the cuts I had ever made there just faded away. I was wrong. They are faint, but they are still there. In the sun, I can see all of them. I stroke my thigh with wonder – hello, my old friends. How nice to see you again. I am filled with awe. My hate is still there, exposed on a wide expanse of flesh. How good to be able to see it again.

Knives

My father takes me to the mall for an ostensibly innocent reason – I need new drawing pens. What he doesn’t know is that I am on the search for a knife, and I know just where to go. ______ is a local kitchenware chain and I know that they will have what I am looking for.

The shop does not disappoint. On the knife rack is just what I need. Not only is it big, sharp, and comes with it’s own sheaf, it is also 50% off of the original 50% off price. I get this 15$ knife for 3 bucks. Buying it, I am giddy. I feel the way I feel when I starve, when I throw up. I tuck my new secret into my backpack and go to buy my pens.

When I get home, I carefully take it out of the bag. It is sealed in hard plastic. It looks dangerous. And best of all is the warning on the back: Warning. This knife is very sharp. Use with care. Keep out of children’s reach.

I do not unpackage it, though. I want to enjoy looking at it for awhile first before I allow myself the luxury of opening it. I am filled with the joy of having a secret to myself again, and I can’t wait to find out just how sharp it is.

Sick

The thing is, though, is that I was doing so well. I really did have my Borderline Personality Disorder under control. I was doing well. I was happy. I was healthy. Then this whole thing happened with my boyfriend on Saturday and I guess there’s another switch besides the self-injury switch, because all of a sudden, I’m crazy again. I thought it would pass, but it hasn’t.

And you know what? I like it. I missed being sick. I missed the sick inner drama that being sick gives to me. Nothing matters outside of what is going on inside my fucked up head. I like it. It hurts but I like it. I hurt but I like it. I’m feeling everything too much again. Everything outside my room is too big. I’m drinking too much. I’m self-destructing with cigarettes. And in the back of my head, all I can think about is how wonderful it will be when I cut next.

Later

I took a walk to the liquor store because I am a functioning alcoholic these days. Ever since I got back from ______ on Monday, being outside – everything feels too big and I get overwhelmed. It’s the feeling I always have when I’m discharged from hospital. Everything is too big. It usually passes within a week, but I was surprised because this is the first time I’ve ever felt this way from coming home from ______. I found I was walking funny. The way I walk when I’m in hospital. Slowly, carefully.

I bought a fifth of vodka. Then I went in search of knives. I thought that, since the supermarket and drugstore have their summer dishware out, they might have little knives as well. I was wrong. They did not. There is nowhere in fucking walking distance that sells knives. I could get some at the dollar store or Walmart, but that would entail getting my father to drive me there. And since I am not supposed to have knives, I can’t risk him seeing me at the checkout with some.

I walked home in a daze. Had a drink. Went to babysitting, which is where I am now. I am so tired. There will be no self-massacre tonight, but tomorrow, all bets are off.

I came back

I relapsed yesterday after having not cut for a year. It’s always been the same. There is a switch in my head and when it goes off, I have to cut. There is no stopping it or preventing it. Once it flicks, I have to follow through. The switch went off on Saturday after my boyfriend and I had a serious talk. It did not go well and I cried for hours. But I could not cut there. It’s bad etiquette to cut in someone else’s house. So I waited til I got home. I got home on Monday but was too tired to do anything about it. But I knew the switch had flicked and I would have to carry through. So yesterday, I dug out my blades.

 I can’t cut my arms anymore. All my scars are long  healed and are now white with age. Arms are the best place to cut, but if I cut there, then everyone would know. And I can’t have that. So whenever I cut, I cut my thighs.

My blades are dull. I just teased my thigh yesterday, made a few small shallow cuts. I’m waiting for the right time and a sharper blade to do justice to my thighs. I want what I want and I need what I need and I know that what I want and need is this. The pain, the cuts, the blood. And I will have what’s mine. I just need to be patient.

I called my old therapist today. I haven’t seen her since the fall of 2014. We were playing phone tag and then I just disappeared. But I’m not doing well these days and I could use some help. So I called her and left a voicemail on her answering machine. She called me back and I’m going to meet with her next Thursday. I’m so glad she’s going to see me again. I was seeing her at the university I attended, but I dropped out last year. She sees clients outside of the university though, so I’m going to see her at the university next week and then we’ll discuss meeting outside of the university.

Tonight I have to babysit until 10 and then I will probably go to sleep. Tomorrow though, I am buying new knives, and there will be a massacre on my flesh.