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I wish I was bleeding again. But im not. Happiness and sadness are like two partners in crime - one cant exist without the other - but I find sadness the bigger criminal here more than ever. Ill be up for a few seconds and damn does flying high feel good, bug then as soon as it comes it gone and im left with an empty house and a razor screaming my name.
Sometimes I make a game of bleeding. an attempt to convince myself none of my hurt is real, maybe. Ill cut, quick and deep, and use my favorite shirt to mop up the blood. Make pictures on my tile floors like all im using is paint, or not stop until the smell of blood seeps past the boundaries of my door and there are no more empty spaces in my shirt to swipe up the next trickle of blood down my leg.
I dont cut in plain sight. Not anymore. Before, when my arms and wrists were my release, id make cuts as big as possible. A challenge, I think for someone to notice my scabs and finally realize I was in pain. But then too many people started noticing. too many questions and no answers good enough to make them turn away again. Now, my release is in my hips.
I remeber I cut so deep one time - the first time - I bleed for almost half an hour and limped for a week. The pain was a reminder of why I chose such methods of release, and also to never cut so deep again. I flinch a little now when I cut, afraid ill misjudge and limp for more than just a week this time.
My razor has gone missing. If I dont have it I wont cut and I've run out of replacements. Usually I snatch blades from razor heads, but tonight it seems im at a loss with both.
If I dont cut, I get angry. And if I get angry I start hurting people. I cut to hurt myself only. Nobody else needs to get hurt.