Addiction, Part 2

Summary: Part 2 of my Addiction essay. This one dealing with self harm.

Warning: DO NOT read the following if you are sensitive to issues concerning self harm/ self injury/cutting or if descriptions there of could set you off.

Find a place to sit.

Choose an inconspicuous and random moment and dedicate it to that last desperate and futile outcry at what you are about to do to dissuade yourself.


Sift frantically through the contents of your desk looking for that dark corner you swore you'd never go near again after last time.

Pick up the razor blade lying amidst the dust in last years pencil case.

Test it on your tongue to make sure it hasn't dulled.

Notice the beat soft floating through the speaker.

Look down because you feel dizzy. Why is the carpet soaked in blood? Oh yes, you cut too deep.

Hard to hide a five inch scar on you wrist. Don't forget to phone work tomorrow to say you can't make it. You hope it doesn't need stitches, don't wanna go to hospital, you heard people like you get asked lots of questions. Of course you didn't do it to get attention.

Clean the carpet.

Don't forget to put away the razorblade.

Promise yourself not to be so stupid in future.

Break the promise.

Why would some one choose to follow these instructions? Who in their right mind would want to intentionally hurt them selves?

The most common explanations are as follows: 1) To seek attention. 2)To abuse yourself due to feelings of worthlessness. 3)To feel alive.

Living in a society where in most individuals are isolated from each other I cannot say for sure that other people feel this way. I have never talked to anyone about the topic [note the euphemism] nor do I know anyone that harms themselves.

I have no wish to share it with anyone so I think that rules out reason number one.

I'm not using the razor blade to punish myself either because the act does not feel unpleasant in any way and certainly not enough to be considered punishment.

To feel alive then? I don't deny there is a certain rush as the blade slices through my skin. That feeling of watching the blood flow out of your body and the knowledge that it's all your fault, or put another way, under your control. Maybe that's feeling alive.

Or just feeling insane.

But with this there is also a feeling of detachment, not any more or less exhilarating than the rest of my life. How can that be considered the reason? After all, the thought of what might be accomplished by the act never entered my mind when I decided to mutilate myself.

So, maybe it's some combination of the three reasons I could come up with, or perhaps something else entirely that made me do it.

Writing this is hoping to figure out what that reason is. Hoping also to hang on to some ounce of rationality and logic and maybe, reading this some one will stumble on the same.

But what is there, apart from the shame and guilt? The self loathing and long sleeves in the summer sun and the life long reminders crisscrossing my skin? The 'I sprained my wrist and that's why it's bandaged'? The dull glint of metal and the dark red trails of congealing fluid glowing against white bathroom tile?

No comfort. No reprieve from nothing and everything, just confusion.


Don't make me laugh!

I'd rather cry instead, but, boys don't cry, do they.

Issues were on sale today.

For all my effort the 'why?' remains stubbornly unanswered.

But I should know, shouldn't I. After all, I'm typing this with one hand. . .