SH

(reader's digression is advised; this is a rated R article)

S.H.

It is late at night and I am sitting in the bathtub. Its been a long day, too long. My friends hate me, and I know why. Its me, they hate ME. They like each other, other people like them, they have fun, and the hate ME. They talk behind my back, they lie about the personal things I tell them. They don’t trust me with anything but giving them fuel for their mocking fire. How are they my friends? How do I still hang out with them? I do because they are my group, I belong with them, I can’t just leave. I’ve been with them forever, we’ve all been best buddies since 6^th grade.

I’m crying, I remember back then, I think of them as the good old days. Fuck why are they gone! Why did I have to change! Why did they have to change! Did I even change or was it just them? Everyone always had other friends other than just among our group, even though we were all best friends to each other. I only had one friend outside the group, because he was younger than us all by four years. He is really cool, and talented, and smart. He always likes to show me things that he makes or learns. I love listening to him, he is so immature but so playful. He makes me laugh with his anger, annoyance, happiness, and realization. He is like a cartoon to me, but a cartoon I care about. I spend time with him every Wednesday at the library after school, and we always have the best time. I love Wednesdays. Is that depressing? That the best part of my week is when I get to spend two hours with some little kid? No, that’s not what its like, that’s just what my friends say. They’re wrong.

I care about him because he’s a true friend, and also someone I AM able to help. No one else needs me or appreciates me, but he does. I almost feel suicidal right now, but then there’s my little boy that needs me. He cares about me too. Whenever I’m down, he makes me laugh, he makes me feel warm and full inside. It doesn’t matter that what we do is so trivial, but it matters more than anything that we have fun. And we do.

Why do I only have one friend like that? Should I only have one friend like that? I wish I had someone in school with me I could talk to like I talk to him. But that would be weird, even the friends I have now would ostracize me. That would be devastating, I need him but I can’t have only him. I need other people too, their attention. I need them to know me and still be my friends. Yeah even though they torture me, make fun of me, hate me. They are my only friends, I need a group, my own age.

If I had a friend like Jacob who was my age, I would undoubtedly have a huge crush on him. He would be so cute and he would care about me, do things for me. And I would care about him, and it would be mutual. Oh I wish that, can I have it? No, of course not, there’s no one that’s just going to care about me like that and then love me. Jacob does because he’s a little kid, little kids are like that. He‘s just a little kid. What does that change? It means we aren’t romantic, it means I can’t talk to him about certain things, certain thoughts, and certain urges. It mean, I have to keep it PG around him, and that’s not a problem. He’s a good kid and I don’t have to try to even censor my thoughts around him, he emanates innocence and optimism, I love being around him. Hearing him talk is like getting a hug. It always makes me want to cry, but I don’t because I’m with him and he would ask what’s wrong.

I can’t tell him everything, so who do I tell? Why do I have to tell anyone at all? Because I always have to tell someone. The bath is pretty cold, and I’ve taken off all my clothes, so I shudder. My body is pretty skinny, and no wonder, I haven’t had the biggest appetite lately. Why? Because eating makes me sick, I’m so empty it hurts to be full in any way. I have to be as far away from that as possible. Maybe I can make them pity me if I look sickly. But I do look sickly, I am so weak, why don’t they pity me. Why do they keep bullying me, torturing me. Its hell, and I’m enduring it. Why am I enduring it.

Well actually, I don’t have to. There’s my Swiss army knife, I got it from my Dad in … the good old days. We went on family camping trips a lot, a Swiss army knife’s got it all. Corkscrew, bottle opener, scissors, large blade, small blade, wrench, screw driver, saw, eyeglass repair tools, toothpick, its amazing. When I got it I was so happy, I could imagine myself living out in the wilderness all by myself, living off the land. I didn’t need anyone but me and my tools. How could I ever even think that?

I am so anxious around other people, but I need them. It hurts when they target me, but it would feel worse if I was ignored. I need to be there, but now I am in solitude. I can hear my breath, its pretty slow. Too slow? I don’t know, I could take my pulse again but it probably hasn’t changed. My mind isn’t racing, I’m just relaxing here in the tub. I think its 1 AM right now. In the good old days I would go to sleep at 9. Now I don’t sleep, I just lay in bed. But I got over that. Now I lay in here.

The bath is perfect, it leaves nothing behind. I can do what I want in here. I’ve got my Swiss army knife. I’ve never used anything but the blades, actually I have used the corkscrew, just not to draw blood. Just to prick.

Outside I can here the wind, its soft and comes in waves. Exactly like waves. I lie for another ten minutes and listen. The wind comes around almost at exact intervals. How weird, I never noticed that. How does it do that? Its never done that. Or maybe I just never listened.

I don’t want to listen, I realize. The wind is fine, but I don’t want to sense anything anymore. There’s always death, but I, I don’t know. That’s so permanent, I mean, things could change and Id be throwing that chance away. I just want to be done with now, oh god please. Make me fast forward to adult life when I can live the way I want. This isn’t what I want? Is there really nothing I can do about where I am now? Am I helpless to suffer, or can I help myself? I can, but I don’t. I guess I must want this, because I choose this. My arms are so pale.

I’m completely undressed, and the air in the room is cold. The heater comes on at night around 10 and turns off around now. I should have come to the bathroom earlier, but I guess my parents were still up watching TV. They do that sometimes, its annoying. I can’t risk them getting up and coming over to use this room for what its for. I remember that time when I was in here, and my mom got up in the middle of the night. I was in the tub, luckily with the curtains drawn. I held my breath for at least 4 minutes while she did her business. I was so scared. If she opened the curtains and saw me, with my knife, with my arm and leg, hell would happen. Hell would happen. I know it, I just know it.

So they care about me. Do they? Or is that their job, am I’m just their legacy. I’m an only child, so I’m their combined legacy. Its all up to me, right? And look how I’m turning out… They don’t give me love, they are just concerned about me like I was a pet. If they left me at home alone for a day without telling me, they wouldn’t be guilty. If they forgot to feed me a meal they wouldn’t feel guilty. If I complain about anything, they are furious, I become terribly ungrateful and undeserving. But I am, I don’t appreciate them for all they give me. I don’t want their love, but they don’t want to give it to me, and that hurts me. I don’t get to deny anyone anything. I don’t have anything.

Its dark, but I have a soft light on, I always do that. Its time now, I don’t feel like thinking anymore, it just makes me sad. I’ve stopped crying, I was only crying a little. I can’t cry a lot anymore, I guess I just don’t have any tears left or something. I’ll use the small blade tonight, at least, first tonight. I like it the best because it can go deep without going through a lot of skin. Its weird, sometimes I like the skin part, and then other times I like the inside part. It makes me feel weird thinking about that. Not exactly excited, I’m definitely scared, but expectant. I want what I’m going to feel, even if its not a good feeling. What defines a good feeling? I guess I just know, I mean, I do know pain is bad.

I have a lot of scars on my left arm, that’s what I do the most. Then there are a few on my left thigh, I hate looking at myself there though. I do now. I look pretty skinny, I’ve got that thigh gap everyone wants so bad. I am sickly, but that’s ok, right, that’s what I want. Is everything I want ok then? Is that how it works?

Mostly on the inside of my leg there. I can see my bone, not just at the knee. It kind of thrills me, wow I’m almost dead. How close am I? Will I ever know for sure? Sometimes I think of what would happen if someone found all my scars, and how obviously they were made, as I try to hide them. For some reason when I think of that, they smile when they see them, like my having them was what they wanted all along.

I’m doing my arm now. There’s the skin part. I sometimes file along the same place for a bit, just to get the feeling to last long. Ah. Sometimes I push down and there’s almost a crack of release as I go through the skin right down to something that stops it. Ah. Pain. That’s all I’m thinking, just think it, pain. Nothing to distract me from the pain. When other people feel pain they think… pain pain pain. Ow ow ow, that really hurts. That hurts more than usual actually. Wow I must have hit a vein or something now it’s really flowing. I’m in the tub though, its ok. Its getting a little on my belly, that’s ok, I watch it drip down along me to my pelvis, and drip down there between my legs then to the bath’s cold white surface, where is drips under me, and I can feel my butt getting a little wet. The blood isn’t warm, it isn’t cold. It’s me, its my temperature. Its weird, I think it should feel warm. It feels good. It’s wet, and sticky, but smooth and flowing. I lick just a little bit. That saltiness wow, that’s something. It tastes like what metal extract would taste like, copper or something. Salty copper, like a penny on the bottom of the ocean. Ow, its hurting a lot now, I think I went a little too wide maybe, I don’t know. What am I, an expert. No, part of this thrill I’m getting is the risk I’m taking right now. Risking what?

Go a little deeper, yeah. I can feel something inside my arm. I scrape that tip of the blade over it, and cut something. I feel it cut. Ow, ow, ow, ow that fucking burns. Ow. I’m getting another gush, my tummy has a little pool now almost. It this what a dead person looks like? Is this what a dead person should look like?

This is bad, this is really bad. I don’t think I’ve seen this much of my blood before. I look at my arm again. The cut I made looks really long, a lot longer than it did when I cut. What did I do? Did I slip again? But I would feel that, I would know. Then I see it, the knife is in my leg, I dropped it. The short blade must be at least half its length in. Ow, that looks painful. But I didn’t feel it at all. Why didn’t I feel it? Because I wasn’t looking? Is that it? Now I feel it, oh fucking god…

The knife is bending to the side a little because of the weight of the heavy handle, and that’s what makes it burn the most. I pull it out, slowly. Ow, ow, ow that’s a lot of blood. Too much blood this is not good this is not good. I close the knife and put it down. Damn, I forgot to clean it! But I have to do something about my leg now.

The gash is in my upper left thigh, were only one other scar is near. This one is really going to leave a scar. And it hurts like a dog is tearing at it, shoving needles in it. I grab my leg suddenly, I cant help it. I try to suffocate its blood, but I don’t, it just waterfalls more, especially when I squeeze tighter. What do I do? What do I fucking do?

I’m really wet between the legs and under me now, this is such a weird feeling. Its almost, good? I just hold on, there’s nothing else to think about right? I’ll just sit here and be occupied like a good little girl. But it hurts so fucking much, its evil how this burns me. Now I’m wet in the face too, and it’s hard to breath, I hear a weird noise. Me, moaning. That’s not weird, it’s in place, it just seems … like its not coming from me. The pain isn’t coming from my body. My mind isn’t behind my face. I just hear that, feel that, see that, it’s not me, it’s just… something. But I’m here somewhere, don’t think too hard, let it be. Just let things be

Just shhhhhhhhhh

S.H. (self harm)

- RIIBFEED-