The pen is mightier than a razor
Hey, readers. As you know from my previous entry, I often attend, and for the last 3 times, recite at open mic night at Busboys & Poets on 5th and K. This last week I recited "My Letter to My Addiction." I wrote it while I was in my last intensive inpatient therapy facility a couple of months ago, and finally got up the courage to share it. I know that many people believe that cutting is for emo (is that still a thing?) teenagers trying to get attention. Well, I began my journey with self-harm as a child when I'd lay awake in bed hitting myself in hopes that enough punishment would free me from my daily misery. I've been actually cutting since I was 18. For 8 years, I've hidden it by only cutting where no one could see. Mostly my thighs. For the most part, no one knew. I'm sure some part of me did want attention, though probably not the kind that people assume. I wanted someone to not believe me when I said I was fine. I wanted someone to somehow sense something was wrong, and to insist on pulling me out of the darkness I'd wrapped myself in. I needed somebody to ask me if I was suicidal. On March 2nd, some part of me wanted my friends to say no when I asked them to leave me alone that night. Self-harm has been my coping skill for years, and it almost became my suicide tool. So as for my letter, if any of you happened to be there, I hope you enjoyed it. For everyone else, here it is now:
Let me begin by saying that I love you. I love the way the light bounces off of your edge, catching my eye with the silver gleam. I love the way you lie silently on my counter, softly whispering my name each time I go to take a shower. I love the way you eventually always win me over, my eyes averted as my fingers carefully caress you, pulling your cold, smooth body close to mine. I love the rushing sound in my ears as you ignite the adrenaline inside of me. I want you. I long for the sharp sting of your kiss on my skin, the hot stream of red that reminds me that I'm alive. I love the days that follow after, each step a fresh reminder of our intimacy. And yet I hate you. I hate you for marring my body. I hate you for coming back each time I've let you go. I hate you for the pain you've caused and the emotions you've stolen from me. We've been lovers for so long, I don't know how to live or who to be without you. Your touch makes my stomach churn uneasily, but my heart leap and even skip a beat. You show me tenderness like no one else ever has, but continue to beat and belittle me. You are my everything, keeping me safe from the rest of this world, yet preventing me from having a life of my own. Our love is a fairy tale, and you're the beast, keeping me trapped within your castle. My life with you is safe and bittersweet. I need you. I can't seem to breathe without you. Each time we meet again, I'm like a newborn, gasping for air for the first time. I love you. I hate you.
I haven't cut since April 11th now, though it hasn't been easy. I remind myself of the people I love (me included!) to push away the urges and focus on other ways to help me feel better. So far, so good! Wish me luck, and I'll be hoping that any of you struggling with depression, addiction, or just life in general can find the strength to pull through!