Self Harm ( Part 1)

My wrist lifelessly dangled off the edge of the porcelain tub; a stream of red tracing the lines on my hand. A pool of crimson waited below. The bath water looked like a distilled merlot. I lay silently, salty tears racing down my face. My mascara sat idly under my eyes tired of running. With the little will I had left, I turned my head to look at the self inflicted mutilations. The word “ Help” was carved into my soft, white, flesh. Under that, “Save ME” screamed for some attention, fresh blood still dripping down from the bottom of the E. My head jolted back. The cuts began to burn. The feeling in my arm was coming back. In the fit of my earlier rage, I felt numb. Therefore, i felt the need to feel. The sharp blade of my pocket knife digging into my wrists was a feather tickling an infant’s face; a soft touch and a pleasurable feeling. It took about a half hour of watching the fluid drain out of my body to realize what I had done. The stinging began to fade again. The numbness had returned.