Urges

Warning: This may trigger people who deal with mental health problems, read at your own risk.

The feeling of agony intensifies as I sit and wait. My fingers tap against the hard wooden table rapidly. I'm desperate for a slice, not one, not two but plenty to cover up my arm from the end on my hand to the top of my shoulder. My legs shake back and forth and at this rate, if I were to stand up I'd just be running a mile. But instead, I sit. And wait. I put on my earphones to calm down and listen to soft music. For a while, it does help but, not for long. I start shaking all over again. It's too much to take in. I stand up and dash out the door leaving the chair spinning behind me. Bits and bobs are being thrown everywhere and I still can't find it. My mind is in pain and I can't handle it. The feeling of emptiness overwhelms me like a wave swallowing my head. It just keeps getting worse and worse until It's found. There it is. The sharp pointy tipped razor attached to the sharpener. I quickly take it and run back to my room, slamming the door behind me. I burst into tears, blocking my vision and I'm only left to see foggy bits of the room. I slam my arms onto the table and briskly take a pair of scissors. The screw is fixed tightly on the sharpener but, that doesn't stop me. I take the scissors and try to unscrew the sharpener, it works. Slowly but quivery I take out the small shiny razor. It sits on my hand and I stare at it. I pick it up gently and then get it close to my arm. I'm ready. 

It cuts through like scissors slicing swiftly against the paper. The feeling of physical affliction soothes me. Little bits of red start to appear on top of the wound. It slowly swells up. I watch in fascination and satisfaction and then I grab the razor again. This time I slit my arm multiple times before stopping and watching them all swell up and bleed. It makes me feel at ease. I do more and more until my whole arm is covered up in puffy wounds and red. 

I sit there and breathe. 

I can breathe again. 

Reviews

[angel]

I am not sure I understand this sort of behavior, but I am trying to.
I have been told I have a desire to hurt myself, because I love someone (dead now, but still has my heart) who belonged to someone else, knowing that I would be hurt.
But this is different; this is physical. Doesn't fit the category of masochism, because, as I understand it, that means you like it when SOMEONE ELSE hurts you. This is strange, because humans seem hard wired to do their best to AVOID pain. Maybe someone who is a doctor or a therapist will see your post. In the meantime, know that there is someone who cares; hope that helps.