This was a little Oneshot story I wrote when I was trying to distract myself.
Okay, not really 'distracting' but I think it sums up how SI makes me feel... thought I'd share it. Be warned, though. It's graphic and triggering.
***
No. It’s a simple enough word.
The word is simple, sure, but it’s meaning… that’s a different matter entirely, I suppose. No means to stop. Stopping something that has become a way of life is like trying to stop a speeding train with a feather.
The box of razors stares at me from across my desk.
I want them. I need them.
No.
I’m stronger than this... right?
No.
I reach across. I just want to hold one… that’s not exactly damaging, is it? I just want to cradle one in my hand to soothe my pulsing heartbeat. My trembling fingers reach into the box, drawing out a thin, rectangular blade that shines in my bedroom light, glinting like a steely eye. Looking straight into my soul.
Clenching my fist, I feel my heart race faster and faster, trying to catch up with my breath which is now catching in my throat.
I’m choking on my own air, gasping.
The hand that now squeezes down on the cold blade unfurls, and once more I’m left staring down at the razor, shining in the same way a chain would. My chain. It wraps around my throat and constricts.
Words like cut, bleed and pain skim the surface of my throbbing mind. I toss them away like paper and focus solely on working up the sleeve of my pyjamas.
The cold sting is quick and leaves a line of red along my wrist.
Along with blood pours relief. A rush of peace that numbs the pain that tries to battle its way through the wall of euphoria.
My gaze is stony and cold as I clean the wound and cover it with my sweatband.
I guess I wasn’t stronger than this after all.
??
