One day when I was feeling really sad and flat like I didn’t feel anything, I decided to cut myself just a little.
The first time, I was scared. The razor was sharp. I cut the pad of my thumb. I felt a sting when the blade sliced it’s way past my fingerprint. There was blood. I let it drip.
Why did I want to cut myself?
Emotionally I didn’t feel anything, I felt flat. Cutting was a way to feel something. And when friends cut together it was a community. My girlfriends all cut and we shared stories and scars whenever we were together.
Also, the physical cut initially causes pain. The pain triggers the brain to release endorphins which have feel-good properties like making you high. It’s the runners high we always hear about, where the runner having exerted herself gets a release and high. You get the same high from smoking weed. Weed also works on the endocannabinoid system.
So the whole thing about cutting is to feel something. Then to feel good. To get high.
I had one of my Daddy’s razor blades, I said I needed to shave my legs.
I had on a long sleeve pullover with a black hoodie. I rolled up my left arm sleeve and exposed my arm. I didn’t really feel anything. Sure it hurt a little, but at least I was feeling something. Soon I would feel the good vibes as my brain would send love to stop the pain. Kind of like a runner’s high.
After I made a couple of cuts, I watched the blood drip down my arm. Don’t worry I wasn’t gonna make a mess I had a towel laid underneath my arm. I usually waited for the blood to dry, then I would wipe it off with alcohol and a cotton ball. I only did it on my left arm.
I was saving my right arm, my virgin arm. I was saving it for when I really wanted it cut all the way through. That’s how I could end it. That’s how I would end it.