It's Like I Was Never Gone

It seems that old habits do die hard.
It's almost ridiculously easy to fall back into a routine.

I cut myself today.
I don't feel bad about it yet, but I know the regret is lurking somewhere at the back of my mind. Right now, I just feel... relieved. Painless. Calm.

Cutting's been on my mind this past month or so, but I haven't actually done it till today. Things have been getting hard for me to deal with, and I've had a lot of dark, angry emotions running through me, lately.

I don't have an outlet any more. I don't get high, I don't drink myself into a stupor, I don't even go to my therapist any more.

Today, I felt terrible, almost suicidal. So, I cut. It seemed like the easiest thing to do. 'Drowning my sorrows' (I hate that phrase) in drink would take to long, I didn't want to smoke up even though I had some pot on me and cutting seemed like the only thing that would work.

So I cut.
It strikes me now, how... normal it felt. The same bathroom, same terrible lighting to make my reflection look insane, the same 'cutting music' - Matchbox 20 to convince me I'm not crazy, I'm just a little unwell, the familiar smell of Dettol mixed with water. It could have been a year ago. I was desperate just like I was this time last year.

I did everything the same. I took a hot shower, to see if maybe, I just needed to relax a little bit. When then was done, and I was still frustrated, I bought myself some time, moisturising. That just served to make me even angrier, though, so I wrapped myself in my towel, got my blade out and looked for a scar-free spot on my shoulder.

I have to admit that before I actually made the first cut, I hesitated. I had the blade poised on the skin, ready to slice, but my hand wouldn't move the first couple of times I tried to move it. I know this sounds very dramatic, but it's true.

I did end up making the cut, though.

And then, another.
And another.

It didn't happen how I expected it to. It stung a lot less than I expected (or perhaps, wanted) it to, but my breathing did get a lot faster than I remembered it getting. Once, long ago, I wrote a post describing it as 'a set of fleshy white lip parting, beads of blood leaking out, eventually covering the entire canyon, and flowing out'. This time, the blood all came at once. Quickly, but steadily.
The sensation of the drops of blood streaming down my arm came as a bit of a surprise. I'd totally forgotten what that felt like.

When the blood had run its course, I washed it just the way I always did. The smell of Dettol is a real trigger for memories.

I remember so clearly when I used to do this every day, several times a day.
I don't want to fall back into that.
I hope this was just a one-time thing.

That regret's setting in, now.


All day - Staring at the ceiling 
Making friends with shadows on my wall 
All night  -Hearing voices telling me 
That I should get some sleep 
Because tomorrow might be good for something