Cutting

I had to do it. No other choice. The suffering got too bad again. My vision twists and then rights itself. As I pull open the deskdrawer, my mouth opens slightly. I breathe in. The razor is cold in my hand, and my arm tingles as I place it next to the skin. It hovers slightly…
A million things rush through my head. I shouldn’t do this, it’s wrong. I’m such a sicko. If you just took the happy pills they gave you… I push the blade against my skin. No. I cannot feel. My body has gone numb and I cannot hear my brain think. Good. The cancerous fear spreads through me, infecting my veins before I do what I know I’m about to do. What if I cut too deep? What if I misjudge? What if they find out? What if… what if… what if….
Pushing the thoughts aside, I shake my head. It clears my vision and thought process somewhat. I press down and glide the razor over my arm, in the direction it’s not supposed to go in – sideways.
The skin parts easily, and my internal struggle bubbles to the surface in the form of gushing blood. I sigh as the small rush of endorphins releases to help numb my body’s pain. It isn’t enough to numb me all the way.
I reposition the razor above my skin. Cut once, twice, a thousand times. It will never matter. It slides over my skin easily, overlapping past cuts, burns, and other carnage. My arm is my battlefield. A cowardly warrior fights the wrong way. I slice the razor across me again. This time it’s pretty damn deep. The adrenaline rushes forward, and I can really feel it.
Calm engulfs me. Serenity consumes me. I am tranquil, bleeding, and satisfied. I sigh and put the razor away. Musn’t overdo it. Musn’t dull the effect.
Red circles of blood swell as I press the tissue to my arm. I mop it all up. Apply pressure to stop the bleeding so that people won’t see it on your sleeve. Hide it. Hide it all away. Who needs to see my pain and suffering? I roll down my sleeve, throw away the tissue, and leave.