Broken

Written 9.25.13 My story of self mutilation. My thoughts, feelings, actions.

It wasn’t attention seeking

It wasn’t a cry for help

It wasn’t some elaborate plan

Or a lie

It was equilibrium

 

I was seeking knowledge, balance

Knowledge of the physical equivalence

To my invisible pain

Mental, emotional physical

 

It didn’t make sense

If I couldn’t see

I had to see

How I felt

 

Other than deep, dark, dead, disappeared

 

I never considered razors or knives.

My instincts were more savage.

 

I’d claw, lacerate and tear

Skin and muscle away

Inch by inch

Layers deep

Hours long

 

Slowly, quickly, deeper, wider.

I am intimately familiar with pain

 

There’s twinging, throbbing, screaming

Burning, twisting, stinging

Acute, obtuse, chronic

Achy, agonizing, itchy

Crippling, raging, gnawing

Dull, severe, raw

Tender, sharp, stabbing

 

I know them all

 

The pain changes

Depending on duration

On depth

On location

 

And the more it hurt

The more I knew

And the more I wanted to know

 

I was addicted to pain

To torturing myself

To the knowledge of it

To the feeling of it

 

And all I wanted was more

Uncontrolled, unrepressed, abandoned

No longer equilibrium

Obsession, compulsion, need

 

Vertigo

 

Without the constant knowledge

Without the presence of pain

I felt dirty

Incomplete

 

I was defaced, sullied, marred

Tainted, damaged, mutilated

Disfigured

 

So I became a butcher

Desperate for release

The more I bled

The more euphoria I felt

 

Callous, ruthless, barbaric

 

BROKEN