I am struggling, my life is in turmoil, somedays I am in control - sometimes I am nearly happy, though I am not sure I would recognise 'happy' anymore. Sometimes I am down, I would say - on my knees down, but there is so much lower one can go than that. Right now I am in the faking it till you make it act, (that is my public act) but at home, behind my locked doors, I can - just be - what ever that may be. I am safe. I can lie on my bed, ear phones on to block out the thoughts in my head, my eye mask on to hide me from the world - and I drift. . .
Blood & Cuts V War & Peace
I am thinking of buying a needle. The desire is building inside of me as my brain sneaks peripheral glimpses at the idea. It's forbidden to think openly about such a thing - a needle - a vein - blood dripping. Slowly. One big, fat, dark red drop at a time. Drip. Splat! A pattern - a blood splatter pattern. A little, tiny, blood splatter pattern - so perfect, so unique. Another drop forms, builds, swells and . . . Splat! Blood. Red. Mesmerising. Perfect for pattern making. Perfect for disappearing into. Perfect for letting my ‘self' slide out of my body and slip gently into the side of the drop. I can feel it now - imagine the pleasure, the safety - I am hidden in a warm, dark red blob. It is alive, it holds me, clings to me - no one can see me here. A small secret smile forms on my mouth.
Forbidden thoughts! Don't think about the blood. Don't think about a needle.
Right now I use a scalpel. I cut patterns and words into my body then use tissues to gently blot up the blood. I have tissues in my desk drawer with my blood patterns on them. The blood changes colour as the days go by, becoming a rustic brown. It's cool. It makes me smile. The cuts on my leg are bright red and slightly raised. I. Love. Them. But they too are forbidden. But no one knows that I am doing it again. It is a secret. I don't want to stop. I like how it makes me feel. They are my cuts, my lines and my patterns. I own them. No one can take them away from me. It is my blood that slowly oozes out, swelling, and then gently running if I don't use the tissue to make blood patterns. It is my blood and my cuts.
But a needle. Just a little prick on the skin, a little sting and then blood. Dripping.
There. I thought about it. I looked the idea, the desire, straight in the eye, I can feel the tension easing - the forbidden is obtainable.