I am all battled up and wounded, and i have plenty of scars to show for it. Some faint, some silverish, some pinkish, some raised, some a peculiar dark red, some just plain dots, and some keloidal. I am not, very honestly, proud of them. Because although these scars are a reminder of what i’ve gone through, and how i eventually came out of the crises stronger than before, i am positive that there could’ve been better ways in doing so.
I remember holding tightly onto them- craft blades, pen knives and all- carving away at my flesh as though it was wood that i was working on. Except that what i was working on was definitely not inanimate- it was flesh fed by blood vessels and nerves.
The blade would sear through the delicate flesh while blood vessels tore apart, releasing endorphins together with a steady stream of blood. It is kinda cathartic, quite unlike anything else, even when compared to a good hard cry. And so as it continues to bleed, i can feel the tension ebb. It is unfortunate that this is a way of life for me to carry on, because i cannot simply pretend that nothing has happened, when all i have to show for are my scars.
And the last few times it happened, cutting just didn’t do it anymore. Blood-letting did, and i was more than happy to drain myself of the extraneous blood. Yes my problems were all still there, but deep down inside i was feeling so much better having rid myself of the extraneous blood.
I’ve totally steered clear of such self-injurious behaviours due to the environment i am placed in, and its rules which i have to follow. I know it will not be easy once i’m left on my own. And i know i stand a huge chance of falling back into what i am comfortable with.
But this is my life, and only i myself will be able to decide where to go on from here.