Maybe Changing

The lights burn dimly and the shadows they cast dance lightly across my skin. Wet, hot tears pool down my cheeks but I don't try to wipe them away; there are too many. I sit cross-legged on my bed, the soft blue comforter crinkled underneath me and nothing but the sound of air slipping through the vents to warm the house to keep the sounds of my wretched self from bleeding across the house.

No one knows I sit here alone in my room. Or if they do, they do not pretend to care. My fingers tremble and I reach for the knife one more time. It is the knife he bought for me at fair to help open bales of hay.  I can still smell the sweetness of it and hear the crunch as the hay settles on the dirt floor and I can still see my horse standing there, his ears perked up and his tummy rumbling, ready and anxious to eat. 

But that time is gone and so much has changed. The knife feels strong and cold in my hands. Its' sharp pointed end rests against my finger. I think about digging it in there, letting the blood fall from the cut, but that would be too obvious. Instead I pull down my sweatpants and sit there for a while, examining my thighs. They are big and disgusting to look at and I hate them; I always have.

I let the blade sit there across my thigh and it rests softly as if it could never hurt me. But I know better. I take a deep breath and then let it out. I look up at the ceiling.

"I know you didn't mean for this to happen, God, but I feel so alone. I feel like you left me. And they keep saying that you never leave and you always have a plan in mind and you'd never put me through anything I can't handle. And even though they say that tomorrow is a new day I feel like that is a punishment, not a new beginning. Here is to your new beginning," I said. I take another deep breath and quickly flash the blade across my skin. Deep and quick.

At first, nothing happens, my body is too shocked at what I did. But then, inevitably, the blood comes. And so does the pain. 

They say it is a fact that your body can't feel two pains at once. That if you stub your toe and that hurts but then get hit in the head, you will only feel you get hit in the head. You will only feel that one pain. So maybe I'm not crazy to think that this pain will get rid of the one inside of me. The deep, gnawing pain that makes me lie in my bed at night and scream silently as tears fall down my face. The pain that makes me rip at my hair and skin and makes me think that maybe tomorrow won't ever come and I am okay with that. Like a thousand blue fires burning inside me that hurt me everyday. 

I sigh as the blood starts to flood up over the ragged edges of the gash and thick streams race down my skin. They are red, redder than I would have expected, and I sit there for a while, mesmerized by the mere show. How the blood just keeps coming. How it brims over the top like water floods over a too filled pot. But the blood is thicker and heavier and soon I feel my eyes start to get heavier and heavier. 

I force myself to stay awake. I cannot dream. I will not dream for fear that the cut will close and the pain of it will end and I will awake to the hurt in my chest being more than I can bear.

Before I can even think, the blade, still wet and slick with the blood from the other cut, swipes across my skin. I gasp. It is deeper than I intended but I don't really care. The pain from the cuts rip across me. My legs feel as if they are on fire and the pain is so good and so welcomed that I try to stand up. The nerves in my legs scream at me in anguish and I smile. I walk a few steps, blood pouring down both cuts and fall to the floor. My vision is clear. Clearer than I could ever hope for. The edges of my furniture are razor sharp and they cut through my line of vision just as the knife cut my skin. I welcome that. My fingers tremble and I look down to see that I still hold the knife in my hand. I hold onto the blade, not the handle and I smile and squeeze tightly to the blade as if it is the rope holding me from a long fall into a deep cavern, and in truth, it is exactly that. I unclench my hand and the nerves and tendons scream at me. The knife sticks into my skin and red blood softly rises up underneath it. I take the knife by the handle and yank it out of my skin. At once the blood flows free. I raise my hand up and watch as the drops take flight down my arm, leaving faint red traces as they curve and swirl and twist their way down. The knife clatters to the ground and leaves a red mark on the dirty pink carpet. I look up into the full-sized mirror on my wall and I see the eyes of a woman whom I do not recognize.

She sits, much like I do, both of her hands on the ground, her arms shaking trying to support the weight of her torso. Her right hand is seeping blood and it crawls across the carpet in a swarm of fury and anguish. The pale skin of her legs is no where to be seen, completely obscured by the blood that still pools out of them. Her pants are covered too and she must have wiped her hand on her shirt because the faded blue material is slathered with her own blood. I look up into her eyes and see madness and silence. I see peacefulness that I'd missed for so long and I see recognition in her eyes. Their hazel beauty sparkles with tears that still roll silently down her cheeks. Her mouth is twisted and looks like a mixture of being horrified and contentedness. I wonder if this girl is happy because I cannot tell.

I am frustrated with her and I turn away and put my back against the glass. It is cool and smooth against my back but the framed edges dig into my spine. I hardly notice. My vision gets fuzzy and I look up at the ceiling once more and sit there. I put my palms in my lap, open towards the sky. The once clear edges blur together and I wonder if I will wake up tomorrow.

***

I dream I am sitting in a field. It is warm, but not too warm and a gently breeze plays across my skin. I am dressed in light jeans and a soft black t-shirt. I am not wearing any shoes. I look around the field. There are tall grasses that sway in the breeze and where I sit they tickle my fingers and toes. I lay back in the grass and look up at the sky. Dark clouds roll in and in the distance I hear thunder. I breathe deeply and smell the delicate scent of earth, rain, and the stalks that surround me. It is a nice scent. I wait for the rain and dig my fingers and toes into the dirt. It is soft and black, rich. 

A small drop of water hits my face and I tilt my head even more towards the sky and drink it in. More rain falls around me and splashes off of my skin and the plants and onto the dirt. I raise my hand up to the sky and notice that there is no blood, not a trace of it. No lines, puffy and pink, still healing from a razor blade knife. It is fair and smooth and pale and beautiful. No blemish. Nothing but skin. I twist my fingers around, bending them in and out as the rain falls harder now. There is no pain. I kick my legs up into the sky and do not feel the anguish. I do not see red. I smile and think that everything will be alright now.

And as the thunder grumbles and the lightning flashes across the sky, I scream with victory at the wind that tousles my hair now furiously because of the storm. The rain pounds across my skin and seeps into my very being. Filling the holes I once felt inside of me. 

As I wash away, I have but one more thought.

Tonight I will return. Tonight I will go home. Tonight there will be no more pain. Tonight I sleep forever.