Chronicles of an almost dead body.
I’m used to hurt myself when things are not all right. I don’t know why but it helps me to focus my suffering instead of the cruel reality.
The first time I did it, it was so frightening, my palms were sweaty, my knees were weak, my whole body was trembling but I just didn’t think it, the wound was done, and it was deeper than I expected. However, it was really pleasant, for a few seconds I forgot every trouble I had. I started to do it more and more often and then it became an habit.
Sometimes I even cut myself to see how much it bleeds, it’s like adrenaline, the pain is like a sudden rush for me. I have myself no mercy, then the habit became an addiction for me, but the pleasure was the most beautiful I ever felt.
Many people have told me not to do it, but if I bleed, I’ll bleed, knowing nobody will care. I’ll always be in doubt if I’m so alone as it seems or if I’m living in the shadows of all that I’ve created. Knives, scissors are my only company, I cannot trust anyone else.
Scars are visible all around my lifeless body and I love each one every day more, cutting myself in such a bloody way is like art for me, knives are the artists, and my body is the painting.
In my whole life I was made to believe I was sick when I wasn’t, ‘till I grew up, now I blow up. I just lock myself in a room with the music turned up so loud that no one can hears me screaming… Then I’m free…
But…Does it worth?
Agradecimientos Especiales: Gabriela Molina.
