Printer-friendly version

I ask if you're okay but the pain in your eyes reveals to me how much you need me and don't want me to leave. You keep me at arms reach yet refuse to let me get any closer incase you pull me into your little bubble of self hatred and pain. It's too late though because how ever near or far I am the results of your self-injury affect me. I want to hold you so close forever and be your big warm safe blanket just so that you feel secure for once, I want to tell you exactly how much you mean to me as my best friend and my soulmate, but the scares act as a barrier , I feel useless as if nothing I say matters to you, the razor silences my voice, or does it deafen you. I don't know what you hear or what goes on in your head when you do it, but all I know is that I don't want to see the affects of it anymore. I also feel as if you need to do this, as though it helps you, because after a 'flesh slicing session' you seem to be much calmer and tend to understand me, or is it that you are more prepared to put up with the bullshit that pours from my mouth in a desperate attempt to convince you to stop harming yourself, I tell you how you don't need to do it to gain love or get rid of the ugly memories of the past. I tell you how much I love you and that I will always be there for you, and you smile and say 'I know you will', hoping that I will be satisfied with your reply. Recently you have stopped slicing into the bare skin on your arms and I was overjoyed, it was as though you were so proud, but strangely not of yourself but proud of me for being happy for you, until I discovered the gashes on your thighs, which is when I realised that you had taken to slicing into chunks of flesh on your legs. I didn't get mad but told you how it was worse this way as I couldn't see the extent of the damage that you were causing yourself anymore. I lay awake every night wondering how I can ever make your inner pain go away so that you can stop inflicting pain on yourself externally. I cry myself to sleep nearly every night with the thought of you on my mind, hoping that in the morning I don't get the phone call telling me "I'm awfully sorry but she died whilst we were operating, she cut too deep this time". Every incision that you make, I scar before you do, every time that you scream I scream louder, every time you hurt I hurt more and when you die I'm so scared that I will die too.