Ronnie quietly walked into her bedroom and closed her door, locking it behind her. She turned on some music appropriate for the occasion; "Am I Wrong?" by Love Spit Love and "Perfect Day" by Lou Reed being her favorite background music during difficult times. Ronnie moved to her dresser and opened one of its many drawers. She pulled out an innocent-looking box of matches from a local candle store. After opening it, she took out a slightly blood-stained cardboard pocket. Inside... A gleaming razorblade.
Pulling the blade from its protective sheath, Ronnie sat on her bed. She took a deep breath, gritted her teeth, and looked at her left forearm. It was getting harder and harder for her to cut; her scars were not easy to cut over, and neither were fresh scabs. Finding a suitable area, Ronnie braced herself and slowly dragged the blade across her skin. Immediately, a thin line of blood streaked across her open forearm. Ronnie could feel relief flowing through her body. How good it felt to cut! How wonderful to release all of her pent-up energy! Eagerly, Ronnie made a second cut. Then a third. And a fourth. Soon, she had rows and rows of thin red lines, each about three inches long, running down her arm. When she came to her inner elbow, she stopped.
Ronnie sat and pondered for a moment. Should she, having run out of space on her forearm, make more cuts on the next best area... her left ankle? Debating mentally, Ronnie finally decided against it. After you've cut an area, you can't cut there again for at least a week while the scabs heal. She needed to save her ankle in case she wanted to cut again in the next few days. The cutting done, Ronnie grabbed the box of Kleenex next to her bed. She pressed the tissues against the flow of blood coming from her arm. After several minutes, the bleeding stopped. Ronnie wrapped paper towels around her affected limb so she wouldn't get blood on her shirt and secured the towels with Scotch tape. Feeling relieved and calm, Ronnie returned the razorblade to its hiding place.
Another successful stress-release session. The trick now was to hide the wounds from her parents, who checked her arms on a fairly regular basis. Even if they caught her once again, they couldn't take away the wonderful feeling Ronnie got when she cut. The adrenaline rush, the warm feelings... No one could take them away from her. Ronnie's secret cutting was her best friend and her worst enemy all rolled into one.
The short story you just read is my attempt to describe one of my typical cutting sessions. I wanted to portray, without going into excessive detail, what such a session is like. Why would I make such a seemingly morbid page? To educate. I want people who have never cut before to know what it's like to cut. To need to hurt yourself to relieve your tensions. To need to mark up your body because you have no other way to express yourself. To need to destroy yourself because of all the emotional pain you're experiencing. I tried to convey these feelings in the above passage. Self-injury is a horrible reality for thousands of people across the globe. If someone you know and love is struggling with self-injury, give them all your love and support. Be the best friend you can be. Let them know how much you care. Self-injury is a sticky web to get out of once you're trapped in it. If you yourself are a self-injurer, seek help. Do your best to beat this debilitating habit. Go back to my Self-Injury page for general information you might find useful. Take a look at my How To Get Help page. Finally, don't forget to sneak a peek at my Useful Links page for helpful resources. And feel free to email me if you feel like talking. I'm always here to listen. Best of luck and God bless you.
When The Cut Goes In Deep originally posted on 03-05-2000 and
reposted after remodeling on 06-22-2000.
Ronnie 2000-2004 ©
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