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the whole thing is very ritualistic. it usually takes place at night, and the rest of the house is asleep, and quiet. i am alone with my thoughts.the music is playing, the bandaids are within reach, i am holding a razor on the floor of my bathroom smoking a cigarette, holding the blade. the stage is set, but i am hesitant. i am considering taking this last chance to back out before i have given myself yet another scar. i dont cut in the same place twice. i look over my body, and try to find the right spot on my arm. i take a piece of tape, and i wrap it around the back of my forarm, stretching the skin. it makes it easier, and the cut is deeper. i hold the blade between my finger and thumb, i press down, lightly at first, then with increasing force, until i feel a slight tingle. then i silde it downward. blood does not come at the first instant. but when it comes, it comes fast, and profusely. i remove the tape. i use the razor to spread it over my arm. maybe draw a picture with it. always happy pictures. like hearts, smiley faces and the occational dasie. i drown myself in the music, and my activities. maybe i make a few more cuts, but usually one is sufficient. some time passes, and i decide that i have had enough. i rince the still bleeding woond(s), and the newly crusted pictures and they wash away leaving a trail of red behind them. i apply some neosporin generously overtop, to ward off infection, and i put on a few kid's dinosaur bandaids, which reminds me how juvanile this whole affair is. im never there while this is going on. i am an outsider, wondering why she is doing this to herself. by the end of this, i am shaken, but greatly relieved. i need another cigarette. i turn off the music, and it's quiet. i am mentally and physically exhausted.