My Dirty Secret

Today I fell back again, into old habits, things I promised myself I would never go back to. But I did. I suppose I always knew I would.

Some people spend much of their life dealing with pain. They have an alarmingly high tolerance. They push on when they want to break down and then some. But maybe that is because when these people break they break. It’s bad. It’s messy. And sometimes they never come back. Sometimes they decide ending it is simpler then dredging through the darkness that has consumed each miniscule part of their lives, there is no light, there never will be.

The first time I cut myself, it stung and I flinched. But when the blood trickled out I knew I had just crossed into something I could never walk away from. It didn’t hurt again. It felt good. It felt great. I finally had something I had complete control over, this was mine, all mine. I hide a small blade in my wallet and every time I just couldn’t deal I knew what I had to do, cut the pain out. Make it go away. The blade was always cold against my skin, I slid it across and waited, waited for it to split open. And slowly it would, that was the sting I waited for and then of course the relief with the blood that trickled out. Sometimes in my fury I would cut in too deep and those are the scars I can’t hide, the angry ones. But I was addicted, I didn’t care. I don’t think I still do.

The day I decided to tell me friend of my addiction I didn’t know what was running through my head. I still don’t. She launched off into a lecture I didn’t really care about, see this was my plan. I knew that since she knew I would know she would judge me even if she said she didn’t and she was one person I could never stand being judged by; I was always a little in love with her. But I don’t know why. I suppose I could say I hated the scars. Maybe I wanted to stop. Maybe I was tired of the secret. But I wasn’t, I loved it, still do. I guess it was mostly because I had hit an all time new and now I knew if I held on to this I would never come back. One day I would wake up and not see the point of it all, and I was not prepared to die.

I don’t care anymore. I love the cut, the sting, the relief and even the scars. When everything is taken away this is how I cope. This is my dirty secret.