I still remember when he said "we learned in medicine, suicidal patients have one or few "try on" cuts before they truly cut deep. What scares me the most is that you don't have any. One try, one deep cut, few times in a row."
Now looking back at it. It sounds more like "you don't prepare for the pain, you just accept it." Even when I know that is not what was on his mind when he was tending to my injuries and cleaning all the blood.
I just like to pretend it was exactly it. It make me sound brave and not like a coward dreading every second trapped in my head.
On some days I also hear "shame you only know how to accept the pain you inflict yourself"
But I tend to ignore it for the greater good.
I know he only cared for the bleeding to stop, in the end that was what he was taught to do. Nothing wrong about that.
That does not change the fact it stucked.
I still remember my quiet "oh that's interesting, how do you bandage a wound for it to close?"
It took 6 and half minutes before he figured out why I am asking.
I can be a good actor if I want to be.
What gave me away was the blood on my cheek from rubbing my face to snap out of it.
He looked up when I asked another question.
"You have something on yout face"
It was dark.
Silence
And more of it.
"How deep is the wound"
...
"How deep is it?"
I felt bad.
I always do.
Even now.
Same gesture. Slowly rolling up my sleeve.
Breaking eye contact and diving down to the deep ends.
The scars
are still dark and they will stay like that for some time.
I am still in the kitchen
Sitting on the floor.
I am
Always on the floor
Making myself as small as I can
Making myself invisible while leaving traces behind me.
The puddle stayed there for 3 full days
My mother would not enter the room
And I felt that cleaning it would just confirm its existence.
It was summer
Or at least it was warm.
Thinking about it
It was actually April and I shaked so much the whole bed was slaming into the wall behind it.
The shouting stopped and all I did was leak.
I was so full of it.
anger, sadness and all that I still cannot name.
It had to get out.
I was on the phone.
Sometimes
I am still on the phone.
Listening to her and willing my teeth not to make a sound and my tears not to fall.
"Don't hurt yourself."
"I won't" I lied as calmly as my wretched body allowed me.
While the puddle grew in size every second.
I was panicking
But even then nothing could force me to admit anything.
The fear, the sadness the confusion or the need to apologize
I wonder if I liked the color red before
(or if I am lying to myself to make myself feel better.)
Before seeing it on the white tiles in shower
where it dissolves into rust like orange before disappearing forever.
Before discoloring all the white towels.
Before all the lies
Before the pleasure from keeping a secret safe.
If I liked all the red
Without all the staring at walls and ceilings
When I lied on my back not able to sleep and too ashamed to cry
When all the others slept soundly and I couldn't handle being alive.
Carving lines into my stomach.
One for 5 tears I would let fall, if I knew how and most importantly,
knew why.
Just not too deep
so my face does not give me away tomorrow.
4 hours in the pool nearly every day
Nearly no clothes
One has to be crafty with it.
Oh how foolish it sounds
I remember calling home
I simply couldn't do it anymore
And before I spoke a word I wanted to say
I was drowned in all the complaints about people I didn't even care about.
I laid my head on the table.
And silently cried.
My biology notes were all soaked before I managed to say goodbye.
I truly wanted to die.
I feel sad for my younger self
Barely 16 and resenting the very thought of making it to tomorrow.
Let's dive deeper now.
We are twelve and all we think about is death
"Do you feel pain when the train hits you or do you die instantly? And does it even matter?"
"Why would you even ask that?" Was always the response.
We lie in bathtub and wonder if there is something afterwards.
Eternal darkness
It cannot be
Another life
No, you don't want to do it again.
You wonder and wonder
And want to find out
But your grandma is downstairs and you don't want her to find your dead body.
You are 10 and you are staring at the car accident from the car window. Your mom is taking you to swimmimg practice.
You are twenty-three and you feel like you should have died in highschool
You grew to appreciate life now but death still fascinates you more.
You still like the color of red
And you still feel like pain is the thing that makes you human
But you are terrified.
Unless you are the shooter
You didn't even had the chance to experience life yet and you nearly died at birth.
You made it through though
And it seems like you will continue to do so.
Till the day you won't.
Hopefully you won't be alone
Or
On the floor
Admiring the crimson river
Staring at the ceiling
shaking
And praying to whatever God you admit to existence
That your grandma won't find the body.
Your older sister won't miss her first child
And your parents will forgive get you for all the trouble that you caused.
dailybridgerton
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