The Cut

WARNING: Could be triggering. A short bit about my experience with self-injury

 It's so little. Just a piece of metal you've pried out of one of your disposable razor heads. But it is your security, your addiction; your savior, your destroyer; it is there for you in times of need. Keep it in your backpack, so when things get too stressful at school you can dig the metal into your palm and release a little rush of endorphins into your brain, making the physical pain turn into a sort of soothing reminder that you're still here. That you hurt yourself more than the rest of them ever could. 

 

You look at your forearm, already covered in scabs and scars, some of them over half an inch deep. No more room. You take off your pants, see your fat thighs. These too are decorated, but more artistic scars. X's that well up with bubbles at the vertex, little stars, grids. Messages: "I hate myself", "Kill me", "I'm sorry!" crudely cut. Your lower legs have long vertical scars that bled for half an hour after you cut them. Like pinstripes. 

 

You see a place that hasn't yet been cut. You lift the razor, slide it ever so gently over the skin. It takes a few seconds before the blood bubbles up. But it does. Glorious scarlet beads on a red string. Growing until they begin to run off the side of your leg, leaving little trails of blood in their wake. 

 

You watch all this with no feeling. Hm. Interesting. Sometimes when you do this, you're overcome by depression, wishing that you could just die already and drive the blade deep into our skin to alleviate the inner pain. Sometimes, you're so manic you could jump and touch the stars. You could be superhuman. You are too strong to feel any pain, you control the world.

 

But now, there's nothing but mild interest in the vivid red of the blood. You're out of your body, watching yourself. 

 

Nothing. Still. Except for the mild stabbing pain of the little cuts. 

 

Feel something, d****t!

 

You don't.

 

God, why can't I feel anything?

 

You should be feeling anxiety. Or depression. Or mania. You're used to overflowing with emotion. That way, even if you want to die, you know you're real.

 

But now, there's a throbbing numbness.

 

Eating you. It's even absorbing the pain.

 

Swallowing you

 

You cut yourself again, deeper this time. Wait until the blood it overflowing, and then cut another line directly through it. 

 

Consuming you. Still nothing. Hm.

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

It's just short. The lack of emotion is intentional. The character is supposed to be in a state of dissociation.

Reviews

[The Autumn Faerie]

I think the lack of emotion in the text is crucial to the success this piece.
It's the emotion evoked in the reader that must be accomplished, and it is a concept you have achieved well.

I, too, have personal experiences with this matter, and can thus verify it was honest to the T.
Almost nostalgic, actually...
Haunting.