Heart-Shaped Box Cutters

Callie’s entire body is shaking.

She’s being ridiculous, she thinks. This shouldn’t be as hard as it is.

Despite the fact that they’re shaking, her hands are clutching onto the heart-shaped box cutters as hard as they can.

She knows she should let go. She’s worked to get to the point where she can, yet she holds on with all the force in the world.

It’s not the first time she would be throwing out her box cutters. She has to throw them away whenever they get dull. However, this time is different. This time, there’s no identical pair waiting for her in the box under her bed. This time, she won’t be going out to buy more.

The heart-shaped box cutters have kept her afloat for ten years. Whenever she was drowning, a simple slight of hand would bring her to the surface. The sight of blood would ground her. Callie remembers when she first saw them at the stationery store near her house. Her thirteen year old self thought they were adorable. She remembers thinking that if she was going to do such horrible things to herself, she might as well romanticize it. And that, she did. She wrote poems and stories of how much the pain soothed her, refusing to acknowledge any of the sorrow it brought her afterwards.

Ever since she started therapy, she tried to find excuses to keep cutting. She can’t count the amount of times she’s said something along the lines of “It only harms me, so why shouldn’t I?”. Countless therapists assured Callie that it wasn’t true, that it harmed others. They also kept telling her that her body cannot distinguish when trauma is self-induced, but she didn’t care. She thought, “What was more trauma in a life already riddled with it?”

It wasn’t until she met her current therapist that she was able to see things somewhat differently. The shift started slowly. She noticed that everyone around her seemed to grow, yet she stayed stuck. At twenty-three, she was still in the same place she was at thirteen. She has lost all her friends and relationships because she chose her pain over them. The slashes across her skin became her only companion.

Then, one day, Callie realized she wanted to change. She wanted to try to experience a different life. It’s been ten years since she last bathed in a pool, and she misses it. Perhaps she even wanted to find a partner and have the courage to undress in front of them. Yet, part of her wished to remain safe. To remain stagnant. She realized she self-harms because it’s comfortable. The pain reminds her of what she knows. When she has nothing else, she has her self-inflicted pain. It’s the only constant in her life.

Which is why she’s here. Crying over a trash can, holding onto her box cutters. Her therapist had challenged her to throw them away, to go without access to them. She’s at the point in her recovery where she had plenty of other skills she could use to cope, yet sometimes she still turned back to cutting. It was a way for her mental illness to remind her that it’s still there, that it would never leave.

She acknowledges that her depression won’t magically disappear. It will still be there, but she will cope in other ways. Still, part of her is going to miss the pain. Nothing will ever compare to the cuts she inflicts on herself, but she’ll learn to be okay with that. At least, that’s what part of her thinks. The other side of her keeps telling her to turn back, to put the heart-shaped box cutters back under her bed. It tells her that she won’t be able to survive without them, that self-injury is the only way.

Her knees wouldn’t hold up her weight, taking her down to the floor. The box cutters never left her hands. This ritual was taking too much out of her. Her thoughts were a whirlwind. Will I be able to live without it? What if nothing makes me feel as good as my misery? Will I ever feel safe without this despair?

She could stay the entire night thinking next to the trash can. Callie knew that this was going to happen, which is why she considered rescheduling this goodbye ceremony. Maybe she could get away with doing it another day, she’d still do it, just not today.

But part of her knew that wasn’t true. If she didn’t do it now, she never will. She’ll keep rescheduling, making excuses. It had to be today. She had to say goodbye.

She holds the heart-shaped box cutters in front of her, and recites the words she had come to memorize for this occasion.

“Thank you for helping me for so long. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have been able to cope. You were there for me when nobody else was. However, I realized that our relationship is toxic. You control me. You cause me pain. You don’t actually fix anything, you just make me put it off. I keep coming back to you precisely because the relief you give me is temporary. I can’t stay in this relationship that doesn’t help me anymore. I love you, but I hate you. I hope to never return to you again. I am setting myself free. Goodbye.”

Callie drops the box cutters onto the trash can. She’s still crying and shaking as she ties the bag. She probably looks a mess, but in this moment it doesn’t matter. Taking the bag, she walks through her apartment hallway until she makes it to the garbage disposal. She hesitates, but throws the bag in it. For a moment, she stands there and debates taking the bag out. Even though it would be disgusting, she can take the bag out and grab her heart-shaped box cutters again. She can return to safety.

But she doesn’t. Callie turns around and leaves, heading back into her apartment. She feels different. Despite the emotional toll this has taken on her, a sense of relief washes over her. 

Callie is finally free.