Cutter

The glass was shattered. I could feel remorse coming in like a huge giant wave. Any moment now and I could be fragile me again. I pick up a piece quickly, I won’t let it go, I think to myself. And yet it washes over me.

I’m shaking now. The adrenalin in my blood, is not as much and I’m shaking and scared and I realize that there will be consequences. I look around me and the glass shard is forgotten in my hand. I’m clenching my teeth so hard, I don’t notice. Finally blood is drawn from a jagged edge in the glass piece. I ignore it, respectfully.

I must, while remorse turns to hatred, I must do something drastic before I fall into that trap of an abyss. I don’t want to curl up crying today, I don’t want to feel that pain. Not right now, not today, I just want the ache to stop for a while.

A pounding somewhere deep inside my soul.

A labyrinth only I know the plan to. I walk its long passageways often, even when overwhelmed, and somewhere still in passages I have yet to traverse, there is a tear, an ache, some distant pain, that throbs and vibrates my very being. In this dimension it causes fluctuations that resonate from my mouth and hands and eyes. My brain can only take so much, retreating in cowardice; stand and fight I yell.

I slam the door, I sit on the floor with my back against the bed. The glass shard and blood still fresh on my palm, still ignored, for its not painful enough. The danger is not there. I turn my wrist, and I slide the glass shard over it so gently and sweetly. Its just a gentle painful reminder. If I get too forceful, I might stop, a reflex; I might push too far.

Gently I increase the pressure, let it pierce and sort of scratch the skin. Jagged edge against soft folding flesh, not quite damaging cleanly but making a bumpy mess. The pain and visual is intoxicating, I put my head back, and my eyes close slowly.

I’m sure it looks like I’m shooting something into my veins. Instead here I am drawing out the demon with small little coaxes and promises of hell.