SAVE ME
Blood. Oozing, dripping, congealing, seeping. It entranced me as I felt my forearms. How beautiful they would look cut and sore, gaping and gushing. Damn! Was I just thinking that again? No...no...can�t go back down that path again. Never again. Too many drugs, too much talking. So much better here, alone, silent.I sank against the wall and put my head in my hands. Fingers bleeding from cuticles ripped off with jagged teeth, scabs that would never heal because I wouldn�t let them, my hands dangled uselessly in my face. Then the thought, once again, that it would feel so good to stab myself in the chest, cut through the flesh, rip myself in two, destroy this pathetic body and cease to exist.
No, can�t think that again. No one understands. No one understands why when I walk I flick my forearms out, imagining the blood and gore spilling down them, I think of them as trophies. Yet they are whole, and have always been whole. I have never cut my body. Never used razors, knives, glass, my teeth, anything sharp that I felt would dull the pain. Maybe that�s why my brain pulses against my skull and my stomach churns with rebellion. I could die from that too, and in a way I want to. I want an ulcer, I want the acid to bleed through my stomach wall and into my intestines. I want fucking physical pain! None of this emotional shit.
�It�s not natural to want to be alone.� my psychiatrist said. But I want to be alone. I want to be the only person alive, I want to be...dead. Yes. Death is so much better than this constant fluctuation between �Oh, let�s spend time together!� and �Sorry, I�m busy�. Fair weather friends who disappear into nothingness at the first sign of danger. That�s why I didn�t tell anyone. That�s why I won�t tell anyone, even though I�m not ashamed of it. The drugs she gave me made me sleep, gain twenty pounds, and feel happier. Or at least that�s what I led her to believe.
I�m not healthy, I�m not healthy in any sense of the word. I�m dying in this shell of my former self, I�m dying. And the windows look so fragile. I�d love to break them and smash the glass onto my wrists, spilling blood everywhere, that beautiful blood. No one can get the color of blood right. It�s so dark, almost black when it first comes out, then as the wound bleeds more, it lightens. All the shades of red, all the shades of black. I love those colors. They are mine. The closest I get is when I notice a cut on my hand and my nails are drawn to it. That�s why my hands are covered with small scars. Does anyone notice? No, and I don�t want them too, even though I�m proud of them.
Does he notice how I�m regressing? Would he even care? I don�t know, and I don�t even let the thought cross my mind that he does. How could he? I�ve never entertained the thought that he likes me as anything more than a friend or acquaintance. There�s nothing to lead me to believe that he even likes being around me. It could all be a huge sham, he could just be tolerating me. I�ve lost so much faith in humanity that I can�t even tell true friendship from politeness. At this point, all my friends are simply polite. I know they can�t stand listening to my ever present problems.
Back to the task at hand. Eyes closed, head against the wall, blood blood blood. Plain plain plain. Have to hide it with makeup. I�m nothing without makeup. People wouldn�t look at me without it, people never want to look at me without it. How can they? It hurts me to look. Wiped my hand across my mouth, stared at the lipstick that came off. Why can�t they make any that will stay on longer? I could certainly afford it, but it seems like too much trouble right now. Sleep grabbed me and I sank into a half-sleeping state. So peaceful. I wanted to stay there forever.
�Jay?� His voice. I would have died for his voice, sacrificed myself on the pillar of the god that made that voice, but I couldn�t. I�m too weak, and the passions that consume me are fleeting.
�In here.� I muttered. Footsteps, clomping steps that betrayed the platforms. The effort to open my eyes would kill me. Then...fingers caressed my face. Eyes opened anyway. His face level with mine, I would die for him.
�What�s wrong?� The question that started the first go round, the drugs, the suffering. I shuddered. Never ever again. Not even for him.
�Nothing.� I whispered. But it�s always something, and I knew that even this pathetic attempt at getting him off my back would fail. Eyes slid closed again.
�Are you having problems getting off the Paxil? Do you need to see the shrink again?� he asked.
�No.� I whined, �I can handle it.� Blood spilling out from my stomach, seeping onto the floor, can�t he see that I am dealing with this the only way I can? He gently pulled my face so he could look at me. My eyes opened slowly. His were full of concern and worry. Why? He was only pretending, he didn�t need to stay here and bother me.
�Are you sleeping okay? You aren�t thinking about cutting your wrists again, are you?� he asked sympathetically. I shivered as I showed him my naked wrists, bare of any scars or claims to my flesh. �It�s great that you haven�t done it, but you aren�t thinking about it either?�
My eyes met his. They looked like windows. Windows can be broken. And I can finally let the blood loose. I shook my head. �Not thinking about it.� I muttered.
�I would hate it if you left. A lot of people would. Try not to think about it.� he said. A tear collected at the side of my eye. He touched it gingerly and then his gaze deepened. �You are thinking about it!�
Shook my head violently, no no no, don�t send me back to her, don�t make me take more drugs! I would rather end up in an asylum....rather end up dead. His face softened, and he grabbed me and stopped my intense shaking. �Jay, it�s okay. I know that it�s hard.� he said. Damn it, why can he push all my buttons and I can�t push any back? I whimpered and buried my face in his shoulder. Reassuring pats on my back were not what I needed, but they were all he gave me. I couldn�t cry in front of him, it would only intensify his desire to send me back to her. Yet sobs were all that came out of my mouth. �Oh, Jay.�, his voice sad, his arms around me tight. Finally I had the strength to pull out of his grasp and resumed my former position on the wall. My eyes blurred, my nose ran, and yet I didn�t give a shit.
He knelt across from me and studied me. He could see the blood spilling from my arms..never my neck, never cut the neck, never ever ever cut the neck. He could see the blood streaming from my stomach and the organs that pulsed inside. He could see right through me.
I flinched under his gaze and pulled my knees up to my face.
�I really think you should go back to the psychiatrist. You�re not getting through this very well.� he said after a long silence.
�No. Can�t go back to her.� I snapped.
�Then we�ll find another one.�
�No.�
�Jay, I would feel better about this if you were acting like an adult.�
�I don�t want to go back to her, I don�t want to have the drugs, don�t want to have the pain!� I screamed, grabbing the carpet in a death grip. �I don�t want to go through that again!�
He pulled back and shook his head. �I can�t make you, but you should at least consider it. I think it would help.�
Shook my head, turned back to the wall. Can�t deal with it, never wanted it, can I give it back? Want to return to my safe home of blood and death. Never sleep again. Never see him again. Blood oozing all over the floor. If I touch him, will he shatter? But he is gone. I crumpled to the ground and slept.