Tag Archives: self abuse

Cutting

pain is too hard to carry. pain in your mind, destroying it. pain in your heart, hurting you. pain you can’t get rid of. pain that will keep piling on. pain holding onto you with claws. pain unwilling to let you go. pain keeping a too tight grip.

pushing the blade into fresh skin. pushing so much red rises up. pushing so much it starts tingling. pushing until the pain becomes numb. push down, cut deeply, move swiftly. pushing to numb everything deep inside. pushing until you’re unable to feel.

finally you’re able to breath again. finally everything becomes a little clearer. finally you have a clean mind. finally breathing isn’t a heavy chore. finally you can show a smile. finally you can be you again.

Scared Skin

I miss wearing tank tops while out in the sun. I miss wearing cute little sun dresses without having to worry. I miss wearing little shorts that go above my knees. I miss being able to wear whatever I wanted without feeling insecure about it. Without having to worry if people are looking at my arm or looking at my thigh. People are talking or whispering about my skin that isn’t smooth anymore.

Are they looking at me and giving me their pity? Are they thinking what could have happened to this poor girl for her to do that? I always wonder what people are thinking when I finally build up the courage of wearing a tank top at work when it’s +20 degrees inside the store. or when I wear a skirt that’s one inch too short.

I can tell by the looks on their faces that they can see them, they can see the deep set scars in my skin. They can see the pain I went through showing on my sleeve, the deep thoughts that was spilled out onto my thigh. The paint of pity is brushed across their face like heavy oil paint on a canvas. They try to give a reassuring smile but it’s not thick enough to ignore the sorrow in their eyes about me, they give a nod to say hello but I can see the shake of their head as they pass me.

When I don’t cover my arms or legs while I’m out in public I feel like I’m walking around naked. They can see my thoughts, read my mind like words on a piece of paper. They’re able to look into my past, see through my eyes in the present and know my future. I want to be able to be happy again and walk around like nothing is wrong with me anymore, I’m fixed, I’m all better. But everyone who looks at the lines on my skin know that I’m not fixed, and I’m not all better.

Friday Night Cutting

She started cutting that Friday night.

She could have asked for help,

She was talking to someone on Facebook,

But she decided not to ask.

She told him she was tired,

She had an energy burning day.

She said goodnight, and signed off.

But she should have stayed online.

She went up to her bedroom.

She changed into her comfy clothes.

She climbed into bed, sat there.

But she wasn’t alone in bed.

She brought an old beautiful friend.

She laid it down on her.

She pushed it into her skin.

But with a singular quick movement,

She was bleeding again, something forgotten.

She hasn’t done this so long.

She wanted to desperately remember again.

But her skin didn’t want to.

She couldn’t stop the red tears.

She couldn’t stop the radiating warmth.

She couldn’t stop the red diamonds.

But it eventually stopped. For now.

Family

What if her family ever knew?

What would they do with her?

What would they say to her?

The deep lines on her thigh

The deep burns in her arm

The bones showing under her clothes

She has to be careful always

She has to always watch herself

She has to think everything through

Getting caught could ruin every thing

Getting found could spoil her world

Getting fix could hurt her soul

Without it she has nothing left

Without it she can’t breath easy

Without it she don’t know anything

With it she can do anything

With it she’s everything she wants

With it she has the world

Things That Make Her Happy

  • Getting through the day without eating.
  • Deep cuts that last a lifetime.
  • The feeling of all her scars.
  • The numbness on a dull body.
  • Feeling the warm blood drip down.
  • Putting the mental pain into physical.
  • The relief after one single cut.
  • Realizing she’ll never truly be happy.
  • Feeling the knife in her hand.
  • The demons that keep her company.
  • The feeling while the lighter burns.
  • Pencil sharpener blade on bare skin.
  • Finding new ways to become skinny.
  • The brightness of a new cut.
  • The blade getting through her skin.
  • Red hot metal on her skin.
  • Getting to peel off a scab.
  • Putting marks on her fresh skin.
  • Being able to breath after cutting.
  • Her stomach craving for some food.
  • The smoke filling up her lungs.
  • Grabbing onto a blade that cuts.
  • The beauty of bright red blood.
  • Tricking people with her fake smiles.
  • Drinking until she is finally numb.
  • Being able to deepen a cut.
  • Putting her body through the pain.
  • The beauty of fresh running blood.
  • Making sure blood doesn’t get everywhere.
  • Knowing it’s a good cut.
  • Watching the scale’s numbers go down.
  • Finding that her thighs don’t touch.
  • The beauty of pain she created.
  • The clarity of holding broken glass.
  • The feeling of breaking into flesh.
  • Seeing broken glass on the street.
  • Hiding fresh new cuts from everyone.
  • The burning sensation in the throat.
  • The salty taste of her tears.
  • Deepening the cuts on her thigh.
  • Feeling the cuts on her wrist.
  • Praying to feel some pain today.
  • Fitting into that perfect skinny outfit.
  • Noticing her scale numbers drop down.
  • Finally reaching her weekly weight goals.
  • Feeling free after cutting a few.
  • Not falling asleep to burn calories.
  • Being able to feel her bones.
  • Being able to see her bones.
  • Not being tempted by any foods.
  • Drinking tea and eating nothing else.
  • Feeling the pain after burning and cutting.
  • Being able to smile through pain.
  • Avoiding all people, especially eating people.
  • Making marks that cause bad pain.
  • Adding onto all the old scars.
  • People believing her that she’s okay.
  • Being able to ignore other’s eating.
  • Nobody noticing she’s cutting and burning.
  • Being able to say she succeeded.
  • The shininess of fresh red blood.
  • When she can keep everything clean.
  • Holding the light knife in hand.
  • Blood beads look like little diamonds.
  • The sparkles on the knife’s blade.
  • Feeling that it’s a deep cut.
  • After the fifth cut, she’s numb.
  • The depth of a new cut.
  • The tingles of a new cut.
  • Drinking until she forgets the pain.
  • Getting the nerve to cut deep.
  • Getting the nerve to burn skin.
  • Hot water on her frozen hands.
  • The beauty in holding her life.
  • Helping others to not feel pain.
  • Turning her mental pain into physical.
  • Creating artworks with knifes and skin.
  • Cutting creates a week of pain.
  • Marking body as much as mind.
  • Tingling after feeling the hot flame.

Skinny

How many pounds? How many inches?

How many calories? How many fats?

How many candies? How many veggies?

How many?.. How many?.. How many..?

 

The questions go through her head.

In the morning, afternoon, and night.

She’s always thinking about not eating.

If she eats, that’s another calorie.

 

That’s another gram of body fat.

Another outfit she can’t fit into.

Another outfit she has destroyed again.

That’s another number on the scale.

 

Her notebook is filled with thinspirations.

Skinny girls, skinny foods, skinny tips.

Notes about getting small and skinny.

 

Learning how to eat or not.

What to eat to burn calories.

What to do instead of eating.

What to do to burn calories.

 

Things to do instead of eating.

Drawing, writing, painting, reading, or coloring.

Napping, bathing, doing hair, painting nails.

Walking, running, doing yoga, or fitness.

Not eating is easier than tracking.

Tracking is hard, tiring, and consuming.

Not eating is easier than fitness.

Tracking is hard, boring, and draining.

 

If she gets through a day,

One, single, empty day without eating,

It’s considered a good successful day.

 

To be skinny she has to

Skip a meal, avoid all foods.

To be skinny she has to

Do something other than eating foods.

 

To be skinny she has to

Drink zero calorie, zero sugar tea.

To be skinny she has to

Pretend to not be starving inside.

 

To be skinny means she’s pretty.

To be skinny means she’s confident.

To be skinny means she’s strong.

To be skinny means she’s brave.

 

How many pounds until she’s perfect?

How many calories does to burn?

How many more candies to avoid?

How many?.. How many?.. How many?..

Broken Glass

Middle​ ​school​ ​girl​ ​with​ ​broken​ ​glass.

Glass​ ​she​ ​found​ ​behind​ ​her​ ​school,

Along​ ​the​ ​ground​ ​mixed​ ​in​ ​rocks.

Unclean,​ ​broken,​ ​shards​ ​of​ ​glass.

Raggedy,​ ​broken,​ ​torn​ ​fresh​ ​skin.

She​ ​didn’t​ ​know​ ​what​ ​she’s​ ​doing.

Willingly​ ​following​ ​a​ ​friend’s​ ​steps​ ​forward,

Forward​ ​into​ ​a​ ​deep​ ​dark​ ​hole.

A​ ​hole​ ​with​ ​scars​ ​and​ ​cuts.

Blade​ ​of​ ​a​ ​new​ ​pencil​ ​sharpener.

Blunt​ ​end​ ​of​ ​a​ ​pocket​ ​knife.

Broken​ ​glass​ ​found​ ​on​ ​the​ ​street.

Deep,​ ​shallow.​ ​Thick,​ ​thin.​ ​Scars,​ ​cut.

She​ ​was​ ​scared​ ​at​ ​first​ ​cut.

But​ ​she​ ​soon​ ​realized​ ​it​ ​helped,

She​ ​was​ ​able​ ​to​ ​numb​ ​pain.

She​ ​numbed​ ​the​ ​emotional​ ​daily​ ​pain.

The​ ​lies​ ​her​ ​brain​ ​would​ ​tell.

The​ ​stories​ ​her​ ​thoughts​ ​would​ ​create.

The​ ​whispers​ ​her​ ​ears​ ​would​ ​hear.

The​ ​other’s​ ​thoughts​ ​she’d​ ​listen​ ​to.

She​ ​was​ ​able​ ​to​ ​numb​ ​pain.

Easy​ ​to​ ​numb​ ​emotional​ ​pain,​ ​also,

Easy​ ​to​ ​numb​ ​the​ ​mental​ ​pain.

She​ ​numbed​ ​the​ ​mental​ ​daily​ ​pain.

The​ ​thoughts​ ​her​ ​mind​ ​would​ ​explore.

The​ ​images​ ​her​ ​imagination​ ​would​ ​create.

The​ ​dreams​ ​her​ ​sleep​ ​would​ ​show.

The​ ​ideas​ ​her​ ​brain​ ​would​ ​brainstorm.

Her​ ​small​ ​shards​ ​of​ ​broken​ ​glass,

Her​ ​sharp​ ​blade​ ​of​ ​pencil​ ​sharpeners,

Her​ ​dull​ ​blade​ ​of​ ​pocket​ ​knife.

To​ ​quiet​ ​her​ ​brain,​ ​thoughts,​ ​ears,

Her​ ​mind,​ ​imagination,​ ​and​ ​sleep.

She’d​ ​guide​ ​the​ ​blade,​ ​glass,​ ​knife

Across​ ​her​ ​arm​ ​and​ ​push​ ​down.

Looking​ ​for​ ​broken​ ​skin​ ​and​ ​blood.

The​ ​cuts​ ​hurt​ ​her​ ​at​ ​first,

But​ ​then​ ​became​ ​a​ ​tickle​ ​sensation.

Then​ ​became​ ​a​ ​numb​ ​gliding​ ​feeling.

Middle​ ​school​ ​girl​ ​became​ ​broken​ ​glass.

Glass​ ​she​ ​became​ ​behind​ ​her​ ​school,

Along​ ​the​ ​ground​ ​mixed​ ​in​ ​blood.

Unclean,​ ​broken​ ​shards​ ​of​ ​glass.

Raggedy,​ ​broken,​ ​torn​ ​fresh​ ​skin.