Reality

Written 2002

 

What was wrong with her? Why was she such a failure? She just couldn’t work it out. These questions rattled around and around in her mind. It was gnawing away at her. She had to stop the thoughts.

 

The light caught on the smooth metal, as she spun the sharp razor blade between her fingers. Only physical pain could block the thoughts. Nothing could get past physical pain.

 

She gently placed the blade against her skin. Slowly she applied more pressure and swiped across her wrist. The blood collected in tiny little droplets. Swiftly they grew and blended together. The pain doubled as she patted the blood away with a cloth. She removed the cloth and waited for the droplet to grow again. She wiped it away again. The pain had worked, the thoughts were gone. All that was left was the searing pain of the cut. She watched the blood well over and over again.

 

The cut had done it’s job, the thoughts were gone. The pain would last for a couple of days, a week at most. What was she to do when the thoughts returned? What was she going to use as a block next time? What was she going to do if next time she applied too much pressure to the blade? What was she going to do if next time she cut to deep? Would she really care? As long as the thoughts stopped, what else would it matter?