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These are real moments of my life. Please let me know if posting them helps you. Feed back on what you think is really helpful to me so if you could spare a minute of your time to write something that would be wonderful.

The shower hisses out when I turn the shower on. A much loved familiar sound. I wait for the water to warm and brush my razor against my forearm. Not hard enough to break the skin, just enough to feel it’s potential. I shiver as if touched by a lover. And in a way, the razor is my lover, my most intimate companion. I let it see what no one else is allowed to see: my tears, my blood, my pain.
The water is a little less than scolding. That’s how I like it these days. Enough so that I feel a light burn, but not enough to boil me. My razor enters the shower with me. It’s the perfect place. No mess to clean up, the water washes it all away. All the sadness, pain, shame, fear, and anger just go right down the drain.
I place my cold lover aside and go through the normal motions of getting a shower. The motions normal people do. The reason most people get showers for: to wash their outsides. I get showers to wash my insides now. As the last of the conditioner is washed from my hair, I think of where I want to cut next. There aren’t any patches of unscarred skin on my legs that I can find easily. My arms are still open though. But what if I cut too deep? What’s gunna happen when I have to wear short sleeves? You know what? I don’t care. I don’t care. I swipe at my arm leaving a scarlet furrow where the razor touched. The blood pools and then begins to trickle down my arm. I sit down and close the drain so I can watch my blood float around me, lovingly caressing my bare flesh. I pretend it can love and that it loves me and only me. It’s mine, and will always be mine. No one can take my blood away. They may take my happiness, my love, and my hope away but never can they take my blood.