My Little Routine Of Self Hate
SHUT UP! Everyone just shut up! I’m tired of people looking at me like I could kill them. I’m tired of everyone believing that I’m nothing to them and I’m just to be ignored. I-I-I’m tired of you all but the cuts on my wrist don’t help the pain.
I'm sitting on my bed with a pocket knife in my hand; my hand shakes as I hold it above my wrist reading to see my blood spill out of me. Tears roll down my face falling on to my wrist. This is my first time but im sure that this will help the pain in my chest. Maybe this will help them to understand that I'm just as normal as them. Maybe…just maybe they will understand.
I'm sitting on my bed with a pocket knife in my hand; the lines of scars trailing down my arm are healing. My handy pocket knife presses into my gray skin causing blood to spill out.
Why do I do this when I know it doesn’t help? All I am doing is hurting me because they hurt me, im just going in a vicious circle. Maybe it does help. Maybe it helps me to feel like im normal, like im going through normal teenaged problems. But im not normal I should stop telling myself that.
I let out a sigh and throw my head back and watch the ceiling. Im watching, imagining the life I could have if I wasn’t stuck as a victim Shadow’s Curse. If only I could be normal and do normal things.
I hate myself.
I continue to watch the blood run down my arm. It’s warm and it red color stains the wood floor as it drips. Its metallic smell fills my nose and a flood of nightmares fills my head.
I have the same nightmare every night. I have the same nightmare of the same fear every night.
I’m sitting in my old kindergarden classroom with my uncle, Cold Stones, stands above me hand pulled back ready in hit me. When his large hand comes across my face blood pours out soaking my shoes. When I look around I'm surrounded by cold darkness with the blood still pouring form my face but this time not just from my scar but from my nose and mouth and eyes. The blood continues to rise. Everything I see is red and all I smell and taste is that metallic stench.
I cut my wrist again but with more force and speed to pull me out of my daydream. I'm out of breath and when I look around I'm pleased to be in my room. Blood dripped down my arm with and increased speed.
I hate myself.
Everyone hates me.
I remember the first time I cut my self. I did it because I was tired of everyone calling me a freak. Whenever I walked into school people called me a freak and weird. That’s when my journey of self-hate began. Nobody believed that I was normal, that I could be normal. But now I know I'm not normal and will never be normal. I now cut myself because of the things I'm forced to be put through. These nightmares every night. The constant worry of losing control. The fear that everyone will see the Shadow’s Eye. My life is not easy but I'm the one that has to live it. I didn’t ask for this anybody sane wouldn’t ask for this.
Why was I chosen? Why me? Why must I suffer? What makes me so special?
I am just like everyone else. I press the knife to my skin once again. I bleed. I cry. I smile. What makes me any different from other kids? My blood slowly stains my shirt and pants. My blood starts to dry on my skin. My blood is comforting in look at. A smile slowly spreads across my face.
My blood, this gorgeous red color stains me, stains my clothes. Seeing it flood out of me. Seeing my pain flood out of me; seeing this hopeless attempt at normalcy. Putting myself in this false sense of security.
Tears fall from my eyes. Im so stupid. Im so stupid to believe that this is normal. Im just so stupid. Cutting myself because I believe I can’t do anything about anything is getting me nowhere. Im just hurting myself. No one believes I'm normal because I do stupid things like this. How am I supposed to represent bravery when I can even brave through my own life, resorting to cutting myself?
I sigh and rub the fresh scars, whipping the dried blood away and causing more to flow carelessly down my arm. I remember back when I was a little kid around 3 and I was playing outside. I was just running around in my backyard by myself but I wasn’t alone. I was playing with the shadows; the shadows that were cast from my playground and from my small frame. They didn’t talk they didn’t move, they just sat there on the ground but I saw them move and talk. I saw it all.
That was my first encounter with Shadow, the alicorn of fear. I wasn’t afraid then. I laughed and played with them. What changed? When did I become such a coward? I can’t just blame this on puberty. Or can I? Maybe this is all just a phase that I’m going through. But a normal teenage phase would have passed by now, after 2 years.
I popped the lid of my shoe box and pulled out a napkin and some peroxide. I wetted the napkin and placed it on my fresh scars. It stung but I’m pretty used to it. I like the pain, it reminds me of when I was little and my dad would roll up his sleeves for once pick me up off the ground and place me on the kitchen counter. My dad would be in a frenzy ting to calm down a crying me, trying to take the pain away, trying to make me feel better. He would take me from the counter and place me in his lap and rock me back and forth as he wipes the peroxide on my wounds being fully aware of the stinging and burning pain I was feeling. After the peroxide he would put a band aid on me very carefully. Once it was on securely he would pull me into a tight hug and smile at me.
This time I don’t put a band aid on I just let the scars sit on my arm. I wish my dad could patch me up right now so he could smile at me and remind me that for every shadow to exist light has to be somewhere. I throw the napkins away and put the cap back on the peroxide and put it and a clean knife away. I pushed the shoe box with my “supplies” to its regular spot under my bed. I changed out of my blood stained clothes into a fresh blue sweater and my black pants. I was going to meet my friends in town.
I just wish that I could be normal, just for a little while. I know that my destiny has different plans for me but I would just like a taste of the normal teenage life. I would just like that one night I don’t have to wake up in a cold sweat from the same nightmare form the same fear. I just don’t want to be forced into things and have to defend myself all the time. I just wish…..that this red liquid spilling out of me every time I cut myself could be viewed as the same thing, the same red stuff, blood, that comes out of everyone else.
