Alright so I am going to be a total hypocrite in this blog against everything I have ever said about myself. I cut myself once in sophomore year of high school. I was so ashamed. It wasn’t deep and it didn’t leave a scar. But I just remember thinking why did I just do that. It was uncontrollable. It was the weirdest thing I have ever felt. A strange dissociation from my body. Then I remember the first time I got drunk. Most people love it and think alcohol is great. I HATED the first time I drank. I did not see the fun in losing control of your body. But mostly it reminded me of that feeling when I was cutting. That out of body feeling. I couldn’t control anything I did. I was saying everything I usually keep inside of me. Of course I overdid it the first time I ever drank like most people do. So the whole throwing up business wasn’t really awesome either. But regardless, it was that feeling. That haunting feeling of not being me. Of course I still drank after that, but it was very monitored. My family uses alcohol as a major social gathering so I am seen as the odd ball in the family. When my mom and I were on vacation for my 21st birthday this year, she poked fun at me for not wanting to drink at that moment. And I was a little aggressive in my response. I have never snapped at my mom. I said, “So am I judged in this family because I don’t consume a drug constantly?” I think I hurt her feelings a bit but I finally got through to her. She said, “Of course we will love you no matter what.” Nice to hear that my alcohol consumption doesn’t categorize me. But still.
Sorry I got off topic. When I drank in college, I felt empowered. I could be anyone I wanted to be. It was ironic that the feeling that had scared me for so long was finally my empowerment. I loved feeling outside of my body. I could do what I want, and say what I want. This week was the first time I combined them both though. I had been drinking earlier in the night (not like wasted but I was in a good place). Hey I am 21 I can do that. And besides, college students are suppose to drink all the time. Duh. Well anyway. I got home and I was still pretty buzzed. I decided to take a shower. I remember grabbing the razor but I don’t remember questioning what I was doing. Now I suppose I should give you a little backstory. So no, I have cut since high school. But I have had cutting objects in my hands so many times. I just like to feel the point. Knowing it is in my control. I remember I went through a phase where I wouldn’t go near knives at all. As I put it, “I have a phobia of sharp things!” Naw. I just was afraid of them, or what I would do with them. So I have had razors in my hand a lot. And I mean a lot. But nothing has ever come from it. My conscience always stepped in and said what’s the point.
So I did it. Just three small ones. And then 4 more tonight. Really small. Looks like paper cuts. Why do people do it? Most people say it is to feel. Because they lack emotion and want to feel something. Other people say it is a loss of control in your life. Other people say it is a cry for attention. Maybe it is all of these things in my case. I also think it is an addiction of sorts. Because this time? I am not ashamed. It’s just there and I am going to move on and focus on the giant to-do list I have to do. That’s just it. There is no time. No time for anything. I am wasting time writing and blogging. No one even knows who I am so it is pointless. I don’t ever want anyone to read this. Yet I am posting on the internet, open for all people to see. It’s a weird world. People confess their lives on the internet, we go on with our simple lives, and we find comfort in cutting our arms. Just another part of life. Stigma aside for a moment, why does it matter. Really. I mean, sure if I cut through the dermal layer we could reach an artery or something. I don’t want that. I just…I guess I don’t know what I want. Anything I suppose.
“And the blood runs still” is from Demons by Imagine Dragons. Basically the whole song speaks to me. I have demons inside. But who doesn’t have demons inside? Is everyone really all that perfect? Its just another mark on our bodies. It’s meaningless, so why do I do it?