The Demons Under My BedMature

Just some creative writing that tells a little bit of what it was like when I had a problem (or addiction) to harming myself. Hopefully someone can relate and just know they're not alone.

The first time I pressed a razor to my skin my adrenaline soared, and I had found my first love. The first time I saw the blood pour down my arm and drip off my fingertips I was in seventh grade, and it was exhilarating. I would look down at the Xacto knife, and slide my finger on the edge as I become transfixed in the way the light would glimmer off it. I lock my bedroom door and I get the shoebox from under my bed, that’s where I keep all my demons. Inside the shoe box are all the things that kill me, but make me feel alive. I push aside the baggie of weed and pop a Xanax before I reach for my ultimate comfort. The shiny piece of metal, I named him Rain. Under the bed I make my demons return. Sit back. Take a deep breath, and when the cool metal presses to my skin my body is electric. Europhic. My stress falls out like rain. I’m bleeding out my sins and guilt, it’s an emotion reset. Am I sick? Who cares. I’m dying in the heat because I’m wearing a hoodie in July; it’s worth it.  I keep Rain in my pocket all day. It’s a comfort to have it near and it cuts my leg as I walk, so it’s a win/win situation. I heard some girls laughing in the hall, one of them looked at me. My face flushes and I know its about me. My arms are itching for something fingernails can’t satisfy. I can’t take this anymore, I locked myself my bedroom, and I beckon my friend out to play. Adrenaline, europhia, pause, repeat. Just once more, no after this one. It wasn’t deep that doesn’t count. The cycle repeats until I’m satisfied. I walk out of my room thinking that didn’t take long, but the clock tells me it’s been hours, its dark outside. Now I’m incredibly tired. I’m so relaxed. I’m nearly high on the endorphins pumping through my brain I give rain a kiss and return him to our demons in the shoebox under the bed. I drift. I float into a peaceful oblivion as the Xanax kicks in. Looking at my arms I watch my red tears run down my wrist. Sometimes I taste it, it tastes like disappointment. It tastes like regret. It’s my favorite flavor. I can’t keep my eyes open anymore.

The End

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