SWEET SWEET PAIN

You sat at the dressing table looking at your naked reflection, admiring the beautiful contours on your body. Beside you sat a computer on the table that had an MS Word window open. You were typing away one of your blogs for the day. This was the golden fiftieth blog post. As you looked at the reflection your eyes wandered to the computer as you spotted mistakes in the write-up.

You wondered if any of the posts ever got to anyone and if so did they help anyone? The blog posts varied from your personal life experiences to the views you had on life. They handled issues you faced daily, problems you avoided until they were no longer bothering you.

In your hand was a scalpel that you had carried from the hospital the previous day. This was your day off and it didn’t feel like it. You had a lot on your mind.

Slowly as if on the operating table, you slide the scalpel on your back, through scars from previous times you did this. You cut the skin open to a length of fifteen centimeters and let the blood flow. The pain made you feel alive. It was like a dose of cocaine through the nose. It awoke a sense you never knew existed. It touched you intimately in places you preferred to remain private. For a minute there you were flying high in the clouds, the trickling of blood felt like engine oil through the engine, it smoothened your navigation. You were high in the sky. Sailing away from the troubled earth.

Minutes went by and the blood clotted on your back, it was about time for another incision. You went for it. This time around, deeply and ruthlessly. It startled you, it shook you but you went for another one this time round trying to form a capital letter ‘A’. It formed perfectly on your brown skin as blood oozed to meet on your ass. The warmth of blood on your ass excited you like the touch of another human being.

You sat there quietly as if in a reverie, your head felt like it was swaying and you enjoyed the rhythm it moved to, you enjoyed the motion made. As minutes went by the blood clotted once more. You got ready for another cut, but this time your arms were too lazy for the cut, and with that, you fainted.

You woke up doubly bend over on the floor between the fluffy chair and the dressing table. Your head was light in the sense that you reeled backward as you tried to stand up. It took you a minute before getting the bearing of the surrounding. The computer was still on with a hissing sound like that of an asthmatic patient.

Your reflection on the mirror was full of despair and hate. You hated yourself for doing this to your body. You hated yourself for thinking about it, for having the energy to execute it so perfectly. You hated yourself because it was the closest you have ever been to pleasure. The pleasure that had prints of pain all over it. You enjoyed it.

You stood up as you prepared to go to the washroom. You looked forward to a hot shower, to reopening wounds that were trying to heal. You looked forward to allowing hot water to land on the back, burning up the wounds and filling up the scars. You looked forward to the water washing off all the blood as it drained on your skin into the pipes and into the sewage. What a way to wash your sins literally. Leave alone the biblical washing away of sins.

You switched on the heater and waited for a minute as the water warmed up. You took a towel into your right hand, wore a pair of blue fluffy slip-on, and waited at the door for the water to preheat. This was your salvation.

Into the shower, you went, hanged your towel on the protruding prong from the wall, and opened the shower. You watched as the water came from the nozzles, splitting into small particles as they descended to hit your yearning body. You wanted the touch of the hot water. This was what brought you back to reality after the episodes. The first particle touched your forehead as the rest went for the shoulder.

As the water touched the wounds, you turned. The pain was heightened just as you anticipated. It felt absolutely great. You tuned the tap to increase the intensity of water. You wanted more hot water slapping and tapping the wounds open. You wanted to feel it all. You bend over under the shower as you let the shower heat you all in the right places. Places you wanted more of the same. The water drained via your shoulders as the smell of blood hit your nostrils. The smell was the same as the one of blood on a blade.

You finished washing the other parts and stood under the shower. You rinsed off and dried yourself. You went back in front of the mirror. This time inspecting the damage you had caused. The back looked like the underbelly of a snake, smooth if one looked closer but full of scars at each touch. You looked at the scars and sighed as the craving for more crept in.

You hated who or what you were.

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