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| "I don't understand it." |
November 16th, 23.35pm.
They laugh at me.
All this time we've been friends - all of the experiences, the laughs, the banter - all of that, I start to doubt.
I should have seen it coming; they don't listen to cogent, thought-out arguments, nor the voice of reason.
All that matters to them is "winning" the argument, and they don't do it with argument - they do it by shutting down debate and dismissing me as an annoyance, by pretending they don't even care about the argument they instigated.
Their troll logic confuses me at every turn, yet also tinges my mind with sadness.
I don't understand it. I don't understand how people can dismiss others without so much as a cursory glance, then go on to talk about things which won't even matter in their lives.
I cry, knowing that I've become the very person I used to dismiss myself - the outcast.
When I turn my back, they jeer and mock and ridicule; their two-faced nature becomes more and more apparent to me with each passing of the day. I know they're mocking me, so why don't they tell me?
I know they don't care or pity me; I've outlived my usefulness, nothing more. Such is the way of someone like I - a commodity to be thrown away when no longer entertaining.
I skulk and shift in my home, the very place I'm meant to feel safe - and I realize I've completely lost control.
My emotions, my life, my friends... all of these are dictated by other, more malign forces on my life.
I feel helpless, but only one thing remains clear - there is no gilded savior to save me this time.
No cavalry, no blinding light, no miraculous epiphany - I am alone.
Thoughts of agonizingly ecstasy rush into my head, and I head for the kitchen. At least there something I can control - my suffering.
November 16th, 23.43pm.
With trembling hands and a malign purpose, I clutch my instrument tenderly in my hand.
It holds a sinister beauty to it - the grooves designed to help the blade lacerate and tear into flesh, the cold, unnatural metal sending shivers up and down my arm. Hesitantly, I put the blade next to my skin, the culmination of 4 months of misfortune, derision, and plain old self-pity comes to life as the blade strokes at my skin in short, staccato bursts. The blade licks and writhes atop, causing inflammation but never plunging further - the objective after all is pain, not laceration.
Then, flesh and metal lock together in lover's embrace, bringing me untold agony and ecstasy, all merged together into one. My mind screams at me, telling me to stop, telling me to stop harming.
I know better. As the night reaches its zenith, I score more marks with my knife; the flesh of my wrist is my canvas, the knife the paintbrush. I look back at my twisted work, satisfied with the result.
I have hurt myself today - leaving marks that are not too visible - yet they are not nonexistent; they live on as reminders of how shallow and petty the people I consort with are.
My mind numb, and my body weary, I set off to bed - the only place that'll keep me safe.
I clutch my wrist, and I sense that this is the beginning of something new; something only I have control of.
Today, I have walked the first steps I have walked in a long time.
No longer will I be at the mercy of others. Now that control is mine, all I can do is see where my journey takes me, and whether my instrument will gift me with new understanding.
November 17th, 00.02am.
I have control. I finally have control.
November 17th, 18.02pm.
My appointment awaits; Lady Knife will not hold out on me much longer.
For the first time in what feels like an era, I have a semblance of control in my life. I may have been deserted, my work may be unfinished, but curses, I have control.
And no-one can take that away from me. No-one.
With warped body and twisted mind
I hold the knife, to see if I can find
The rhyme, the reason, the purpose behind this pain
What is there to win, what is there to gain?
Control, my friend, that is the prize
With every second, the pain will rise
In a crescendo of anguish, one will know
That redemption will fall faster than the stone
My handiwork complete, my masterpiece unveiled
All my peers will now know I have failed
To remain as myself: happy, bright and alive
The opposite takes my place; only Darkness will thrive
With bloodied brush and sundered mind
I mark my wrist, to see if I can find
The rhyme, the reason, the purpose behind this madness
Leave me alone; let me slumber in my sadness.
Source of image: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Self-Harm-in-the-Shadows-146981101
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