Bleeding Girl

A life based on reason will always require to be balanced by an occasional bout of violent and irrational emotion, for the instinctual tribes must be satisfied.
~Cyril Connolly

There are secrets that you keep from everyone. If possible you'd keep them from yourself. You keep them locked away because you know they are wrong. That if anyone were to find out about it, you'd no longer be viewed as normal. So you pull on a mask and go through the day. Smile and Shine.

Then something cracks the mask. Covering the scars won't be so easy this time and you're exposed. You spend hours explaining to deaf ears why, but only when you swear never to do it again does anyone listen. But they never forget and even when you try so hard not to give into familiar temptation, they will accuse you of breaking your word.

I am a cutter. I have not done so for five years because I go caught. I was 1800 miles from home with not much of a support structure near me. I had just failed an assessment that was fairly critical. It didn't matter that I could take the test again; I was worthless for failing. My inner critic was being relentless, not letting up a moment. I was in the girl's restroom, a room that I usually had to myself because there were so few women in the school. I was kicking and punching walls, then I started scratching my left forearm. Over and over again in the same spot until it bled.

My instructor and the school counselor noticed. I had to be incredibly careful of keeping it clean during class. I found out I'm allergic to Neosporin and the scratch bubbled like a burn. I was urged to tell my family because it was getting so bad. I told Dad and Sis they made me promise to never do it again. My few friends in Phoenix also found and elicited the same promise.

No one really asked me why. I could simply cop out and blame a prescription change had messed with my head, but that was only part of the reason. I had lost so much control. Bleeding was release. It shut the critic's voice up. For a brief moment I could be at peace.

5 comments:

Mister GAG December 14, 2009 at 2:18 PM  

I am sorry to read that a feeling of failure could lead you to cut yourself, Andrea.

May I ask what reason, beyond the assessment failure, prompted you to do so?

HUG

Andrea Leigh December 14, 2009 at 11:11 PM  

It's a sort of release. The closest thing I can equate it to is like in the Middle Ages when they would bleed a sick person or use leeches, a sort of purifying of the blood. Of course they were in error and the loss of blood meant weakening the person but the physicians of the time believed they were doing good.

There was so much clamor in my head that I needed it out. The cutting was a way to let that out.

Mister GAG December 15, 2009 at 9:19 AM  

I understand.

Maybe you should have just got up one day, skipped breakfast and donated some of your blood to a blood bank? :) This way, you would have released any negative energy and somebody could have benefited from some hot boiling blood :)

I don't wish you for you to do it again, Andrea, but should you feel the need to release bloody energy, come write on here and I'll comment so much that you won't have time to do anything else but reply :)

Deal?

You are not alone in this world, brave girl. Always remember that!

Garret January 3, 2010 at 8:48 PM  

I'm glad you go[t] caught, and are courageous enough to share your secret with the world. You are not alone. We've all been there at one time or another, we just have different ways of bleeding. It seems you are now bleeding words instead of blood. That is a much safer choice, and I hope it brings the relief you seek.

Andrea Leigh January 6, 2010 at 12:00 AM  

Actually, I just got my pin from the Red Cross for donating a gallon. ^_^

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