So we meet again my old friend. | jessruthless's Blog
Last night I waited. My husband finally passed out around 4 am. I turned to make sure that he was really asleep then I opened my underwear drawer. I reached in and pull it out. It was still taped there on the inside of my drawer where I hid it when we first got to the hotel months ago. I grabbed a few napkins and started my much needed ritual.
I took out the razor blade and pressed it against my left wrist. I slide it down arm until I reached my palm. I had made a inch slit in the skin. Blood trickled out, warm at first but then turning cold. I blotted it with a napkin and cleared my canvas. I flies the blade downward again in the same cut making it deeper.
I pressed the napkin to my skin to allow it to soak up the blood and quickly cleaned the blade. I waited until it was finished bleeding before I removed the napkin. I then placed the razor blade in the napkin and put it back into my drawer. I laid there with my back to my husband and I sighed with relief. I had needed to cut. I hadn't cut in a few months. Nothing bad happened earlier to make me want to cut. My body just needed it. Life wasn't at it's best but I really had no need. No reason. I just woke feeling blue and just ached for it.
When I need to cut its like the need of an addict to get high. An alcoholic needs to drink, an annerexic needs to purge, and cutter needs to cut. It's like an addiction to pain. But not just the feeling of the pain. It's not like I want to hurt. I want the release that comes with the pain. The rush of endorphins and the distraction from the inner pain.
And yes, my best friend is a razor blade. When I was suicidal I tried all sorts of methods, hanging, overdose, gun, train tracks, etc. But I realized that I didn't want to die, I wanted to feel the release. So cutting stuck with me. I have begun to love my blade. I have been friends with it for over 12 years. I would hate to lose it.
My mood: pretty numb
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