-The blood was mesmerizing. Eventually it became the sight of my own blood that I found appealing. Something on the inside that was suddenly freed. Bright red against brown skin. Light scratches and cuts, hoping the scars wouldn’t show, but cutting where it wouldn’t be noticeable. I wasn’t trying to kill myself, at least not by cutting. Slicing your wrists sounded messy and painful. I could never force myself to cut that deep. But light cuts on the arms, that was something else. Cutting close to the wrist, flirting with the idea of death.
I started cutting after read Gillian Flynn’s Sharp Objects. The main character cut words into her arms. It was how I started. I took a razor, in a moment of weakness and wrote HELL into my own skin. My nieces asked about it once and I lied. “The cat scratched me. Funny that it looks like hell.” The girls still say my cat can write. I may tell them the truth when they are older. So, maybe I romanticized the idea of cutting at first and then I realized how “good” it felt.
I first cut to release pressure. I had so many emotions that I couldn’t let out for fear that people would judge me or get angry. So, to let something out, I let out the blood. I also cut when I was numb. As a girl with depression, I had numb moments. The world was seen through a fog and I just wouldn’t feel anything at all. So small cuts, moments of pain, reminded me that I was human. Even if I didn’t feel like it, here was proof that I was alive.
I knew cutting was bad. No one would say otherwise. And I couldn’t have arms covered in scars without explaining myself. The next step were tattoos. Tattoos became my new obsession. They were that pain I sought, but something beautiful was left afterwards. I started with Live and Love on each forearm. The a heart and rose on my wrists. A semicolon and a quill behind each ear. A treble clef and a star in my ears. A deathly hallows on my ankle. “I create myself” on my wrist. These beautiful reminders of what I love and who I am, keep me from messing them up with my own cuts. Artful scars instead of jagged line.-
The posts I write that involve negative things get more hits that my normal day ones. I mean, I am not really complaining. It is nice to have people actually read my stuff. And I pride myself on being honest with what I have been through in my life. And I get that people like to read about bad things. It is like looking at a car crash as you drive by. You don’t want to see a dead body but you want to peak at what is going on.
So, when my life is happy I don’t quite know what to write about. So I revisit old things like cutting, my suicide attempts, mental hospital stays, and my molestation. I mean, I don’t care about bringing them up multiple times. Even when I am living a happy life those things have some hold on me. But I am doing very well right now.
It is my last semester of school, I got published in the lit journal last semester, but the little piece I included above didn’t get accepted this round. No biggie.
I am in an amazing show and just started rehearsals to play Deloris again in Sister Act.
I am SLOWLY losing weight and am enjoying my new kick boxing class.
I have the funds for my New York trip at the end of May with my sisters and one niece.
Work is..work. I don’t suck at it though.
Family life is fine, but always a little crazy.
To be honest, I do miss my High School friends. I don’t see them often. But I am excited about the new friends I make during shows.
Overall, I am doing okay though. So I’m not sure what to write for you all. Any suggestions? Anything you have questions about or want to hear more of? I’m an open book!