Hurting yourself hurts more than just you
The razor brushed against my arm, a few inches from the wrist. Each time the blade glided across my skin, I added more pressure. Blood trickled down in an elaborate pattern as my fresh scars stung. I placed the razor coated in red on the bathroom counter and examined the damage. The pain grew more intense as I tried to stop the bleeding.
I could not look at myself in the mirror. I was too ashamed of who I continued to be.
Blood covered my arm as I stared at the liquid, dumbfounded. I could not remember cutting my skin open recently. What baffled me more was when I washed away the blood I did not find a single mark on my arm. My body trembled as I tried to figure out what was wrong with me.
Sometimes I could go without it for a day. Sometimes I could go without it for a few. But I could never go without it for long. It was a part of me now, a part of me that I could never get rid of.
I could not control it. There was nothing I could do to end it. Day after day it would occur, and I would just let it be. The sudden bleeding that took place without any cuts on my arm was now a part of me. It was a part that I could not explain nor get rid of.
I hid the scars from the rest of the world. I was afraid of what others would think of me. They would see me as weak. They would conclude that I was insane.
I never told anyone of the incidents that I was experiencing. Everyone would have thought I was insane.
I was terrified of the future. I had no control of what was to come. The present suited me well. When I self-injured I had complete control. I decided how deep to cut. I decided how much to bleed. Having power over anything comforted me.
I had lost all control over my body. I had lost all control over myself. I was afraid of what was to come. It terrified me to not know what to expect next.
I spent many sleepless nights worrying about what might happen if someone was to discover my secret. I had always known what I was doing was wrong, but it never was enough to stop my actions.
I did not want anyone to discover what was occurring with me. I isolated myself from others to make sure of it.
I loathed myself. I could never remember a time when I did not. Inevitably, I did what I always knew I would. I cut myself for the final time.
I could not remember bleeding this much before. I felt my body being drained of all the red liquid. My breathing slowed as my heartbeat did the same. I then bled for the final time.