Through closed eyes

Trigger warning: self harm and suicidal themes

I roll up my shirtsleeve for the seventh time in the past two days. My grip on the blade tightens. I close my eyes. There’s a lump in my throat and my mouth is dry. I take a shaky breath as I press the sharp metal to my wrist. Tears start to fall as I feel the point pierce my skin. I can feel the blood start to trickle out as I drag the blade across my wrist. I’m scared to look. I’m always scared to look. I look anyway. A heavy sob escapes my chest when I see the trail of red slowly flowing out of me. My eyes close again and I lay back in bed and embrace the pain. I savour the stinging feeling shooting throughout my arm, down into my fingers.

I deserve this, I think. And I do. I deserve the pain. I deserve to hide my wrists with long sleeves. I deserve to feel ashamed of myself. I deserve to feel pain when my jumpers rub against my wrist. I deserve the suffering. Why? Well, I haven’t figured that part out yet. All I know is that I hate myself and I deserve to feel pain.

I roll over onto my stomach and cry through closed eyes. I cry and I cry. I lose track of how long I’ve been crying, and by the time I lift my head, the pillow is soaked with my tears. I sit up and look over to the shiny, blood-stained blade sitting on my bedside table. I glare at it. I glare and I glare and I glare until I realise, I shouldn’t be glaring at the blade. It’s not the blade’s fault that I hate myself. It’s not the blade’s fault that I decided to take it out on myself. It’s my own. I close my eyes.

Maybe that’s why I deserve the pain. I’ve inflicted so much on myself that I think I deserve more. No, I know I deserve more. There will never be a day where I have felt enough pain for doing this to myself. It’s a vicious circle, isn’t it? I hurt myself due to the hatred I feel towards myself for hurting myself.

I pull myself off my bed and go look at myself in the mirror. I see my puffy eyes glaring back at me. I try to pull my lips and my tear-streaked cheeks into a smile, but it collapses immediately into more tears as I fall to the floor and bury my face in my hands. My breathing is short and shaky. I close my eyes and scrunch up my whole face. It’s taking me all I have not to go and grab that blade beside my bed and cut my wrist again. I know that if I get up, I’ll do it. So, I don’t get up. I sit there on the floor beside the mirror and I shake with closed eyes.

As I try in vain to get my breathing under control, I trace my fingers up and down my forearm. I feel the bumps where the blade split my skin. There’s a faint pain where each cut is lightly brushed over by my fingertips. I look down and see the thin red lines where I made myself bleed. I blink back the tears that keep collecting in my eyes. I did this. I think to myself. This is my fault. I want to scream. These cuts ruin me. They destroy me. And yet I can’t stop. I close my eyes yet again and rest my head against the wall from pure exhaustion.

I stand up and get out of my room, away from the blade. I go to the bathroom, where I start the shower. I undress and avoid looking in the mirror. Why are there so many goddamn mirrors in this house? I get in the shower and let the hot water run over my body. I flinch as the water gets into the slits embedded in my wrist, but then I hold my arm under the water. I let the water clean the slits out. It hurts. Good. I can’t look at my arm, so I look down at my feet and see the leaked blood swirling around beneath me as it follows the water down the drain. I grab my loofa and I scrub. I scrub all over my body, hard. Maybe if I scrub hard enough; I can erase myself. If not myself, then at least my cuts. I scrub my arm until it’s bleeding even more than it was before. Go away go away go away go away. I close my eyes and wish they would go away. That I would go away.

I get out of the shower and get into my clothes, avoiding the mirror again. I catch a glimpse of myself. Oh, why not? I can wallow for a bit longer. I turn to the mirror and look myself up and down, hating every inch. I roll my sleeves up and put my hands at my side. They’re not that noticeable, are they? I look down at my wrists in the mirror. A few lines poke out, but nothing too noticeable. I raise my hand as if I was waving to somebody and immediately move my arm down and pull my sleeve back down. My hand goes to my mouth. There’s so many. It looks like I dragged my arm across a cactus. The cuts stick out like a sore thumb. They’re so ugly. It’s impossible not to notice them. I close my eyes and try to push the image of my arm out of my head.

I start to go into my room but stop. The blade’s in there. I decide I’m strong enough, that I won’t cut myself, that I can go in there and just finish up some homework without thinking of making myself bleed. I sit at my desk and try to get some work done. My brain is empty except for the blade. I roll up my sleeve again to look at my arm. Hideous. I roll it back down and blankly stare at my laptop screen, trying to think about anything else but the blade.

I look over at the blade again. It’s tempting. I hate that I’m thinking about this. I hate that this is even an option. I hate that the best option right now seems to be cutting myself rather than not. What is wrong with me? I turn back to the computer, but I can’t resist. I grab the blade and I cut.

I cut and I cut and I cut. I don’t stop. My thoughts are so loud. So overwhelming. Worthless. The blade is piercing my skin over and over. Fucking idiot. I’m making the blade pierce my skin over and over. Useless piece of shit. The tears are falling faster and faster with every slice. I’m worthless. I’m sobbing now, gripping the blade harder than I ever have before. I hate myself. Another cut. I want to die. Another. You should just end it. Another. End it right now. Another. You can’t even get any homework done without fucking cutting yourse- I gasp when I notice how much blood has fallen on the floor. Look at what you’ve done.

 Time seems to slow down.

I drop the blade

Oh god,

It clatters next to me on the floor

What have you done?

It sounds a million miles away.

So much blood

There’s a rushing in my ears.

That’s my blood

My breathing gets quicker.

What have I done?

The blood is still dripping onto the floor. I grab my wrist in attempt to stop the blood flow-

What have I done?

 -but it doesn’t work.

I feel myself getting lightheaded.

I close my eyes and try to

calm down.

I fall

To the floor.

My head hits the wood.

Ouch

My vision starts to go blurry.

Time seems to

                            slow down

                                                   even more.

Is that my hair?

My hair is

                  soaked in blood.

                                                  My blood.

                                                                                              That’s disgusting

                       That’s mine.

My eyes start to feel heavy.

I’m drifting.

                      And there’s my wrist  

                  red

It’s so red.

There’s so much blood.

           I hear

                             footsteps

                                                             I feel them.

                                                                                                                         In the floor.

                                                          The floor that I’m lying on.

                                            The floor I collapsed on.

A scream.

                   Mum?

A sob.

                  Mum!

                               I start to speak

                 But the words

                                           don’t

                                                                                                                         come.

I feel wet

                                Tears

I feel warm

                                 Hand

I hear sobs

                     Mum.

“Mum.” I manage

It’s quiet but

                          She hears.

                          Hair.

She’s touching my head.

“It’s ok,

                                 sweetie”

Through the blurriness

                                 I see her.

                                                          Crying

“I’m sorry” I mumble.

And I

                         I can feel

                                                   myself

                                                                                                       drifting.

My eyes

                            close.

                                                        “I'm sorry”

                                                                               I say

                                                                                        again.

And I drift.

                   And I drift.

                                                           until I can’t drift any farther.

I close my eyes

And I take a breath.

It’s shaky.

“I’m so,” I start. I cough. “I’m so sorry” I sob.

“Shhhh, it’s going to be okay” mum replies. She’s dialling a number into her phone.

But it’s not.

“Hello, yes hi, can I get an ambulance to 31 Richmond?”

I know it’s not.

“She’s cut herself. There’s a lot of blood”

Because I’m dying.

I know it.

I can feel myself letting go.

She’s stroking my hair.

“I’m sorry”

“Shhhh, shhhh honey it’s going to be okay. The ambulance is on it’s way”

I hear the sadness in her voice.

I’m slipping out of consciousness.

I’m dying.

“Mum” I say.

“I love you, honey”

I open my eyes once more, just to see her face again.

The tears are rolling down my face.

My breathing is heavier.

I can’t breathe.

I love you too.

I love you too

I love you too

But it’s not coming out.

I love you too

I love you too

I love you too

Why isn’t it coming out?

I love you too

I love you too

I love you too

I take my last rattling breath

I love you too.

And the light behind my closed eyes goes out