Kat just doesn't get it does she? I have to cut I need to... Another person who thinks Gerard's cutting is easily solveable
‘Kat you don’t understand I don’t want to stop doing it. I-I love it too much’
‘How the fuck can you like hurting yourself?!’
I stared at her for a moment the sinking feeling in my chest getting worse. I questioned for a minute whether it was better to just say ‘fuck it’ and walk out the house.
‘I- I just do, it makes me feel better’
How can cutting yourself make you feel better? Doesn’t it hurt? Don’t you think your scars look ugly?
Thanks for that Kat I thought sarcastically. She doesn’t only just think I’m a freak for cutting but she also thinks I’m ugly too.
‘Gerard are you goin’ to answer me?’
‘You don’t get it do you?’
If I had a dollar for the amount of times I’ve said that to someone when trying to explain my ‘problem behaviours’ as my therapist Diane says I’d be minted.
‘Then explain to me’
I took a long exhausted sigh while wondering how long it would take before I got through to her. I bit the Inside of my bottom lip and glanced at her for a second. She looked impatient. She stood with her hands on her hips with her head slightly turned to the right. She had a concerned frown upon her forehead.
‘It’s like this… when I cut I feel relaxed. It’s like all the emotion that is pent up inside of me is released.’
‘Baby, why do you have to cut though-‘
‘I’ve told you, it helps me feel less shitty’
I was getting annoyed now, why couldn’t she just accept it- accept me how I am?
‘Look, Gee, Honey If your feeling shitty why don’t you like, take a walk or something, read, distract yourself anything but that. You know, you should talk to me more ‘bout these things’
I shook my head slightly while pulling down my sleeves, an attempt to hide any cuts that might just be showing and which she could criticise and as normal and go all sympathetic on me and say ‘Gerard they are so bad honey, you have to stop’ or ‘Your gonna be left with some awful scars Gee’ like it was supposed to suddenly make me stop hurting myself.
‘Kat it’s just not that simple…really it’s not. I’m addicted to it I’ve been doing it for years. I need it’
Her frown softened slightly and a small almost bemused smile crept across her face.
‘Gerard…. I dunno anymore honey. I…’
She sighed. That was a bad sign. It was a sign that she didn’t understand. Didn’t get it. That simple. And she was giving up on attempting to try and make sense of my claims of it being like a drug that helped me feel high.
‘I-I really just don’t know. I just wished you’d stop; I don’t get how hurting yourself can be addictive, I really don’t.’
She shook her head and looked away. She walked by me to go into the kitchen, she gave me a hug as she passed. An effort to make me realise that she did care. I wasn’t going to continue the conversation by explaining to her about all the biological reasons why cutting was addictive as I, myself was even starting to doubt all the things my therapist had told me about cutting giving an endorphin release . Maybe I was just being silly and irrational. Maybe I should just get a grip. I went upstairs to the bedroom as I could feel myself starting to break. I knew that if I didn’t get out of Kat’s way soon I would end up crying and screaming at her and literally begging her to help me and understand me as I had done many times before to a number of people.
I sat on the edge of my bed and rolled up my sleeves. I gave a quick look at the door to make sure Kat hadn’t followed me up. I examined my cuts and scars carefully, feeling them with my fingers, tracing the dark pink lines. That was once gaping wounds. I loved them, I just hated the judgement they got from other people. That’s why I try to cover them up as much as possible now even in the summer.
I couldn’t keep it in any longer. I just let myself cry silently letting the tears fall on my wrists. They were tattoos. My scars were a bodily mark signifying the nights I had stayed on the earth and not given into suicide. They reminded me of my bravery to just stick it out one night more.
I wiped my tears away. I hastily grabbed my blade that was hidden in my sock draw and went into the bathroom, shutting the door quietly and locking it so Kat wouldn’t disturb me. I just thought ‘Fuck it, if she doesn’t understand then her opinion doesn’t even matter. They are not ugly they are beautiful.’
I filled the sink full of water, pressed the blade to my wrist and slowly pulled it across. Quickly blood emerged and started to drip down my wrist encircling it like a bracelet.
A knock on the door made me rapidly pull the plug on the sink. I stuffed the blade into my jeans pocket and I tugged down my sleeves. I flushed the toilet just to make it look as if I had been using it.
‘Gerard, honey, you aren’t cutting are you?’
I opened the door quickly and flashed her a warm smile. I made my reply sound as honest and assuring as possible ‘no ‘course not babe’. She would never grasp the concept that while she like many ‘normal’ people cried tears of water , my tears consisted for the most part of blood.