Here’s another fic for you all. I hope you like this one. Mentioning again- mild angst. Have fun!

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Cutting It All Down

Yes I’m a cutter. A true real life cutter. I use the blade to end it all, and to refresh it all. I think of the blood coming from my wrist as all the pain falling away. Each tiny molecule of blood is just one bit of my pain. I guess anyone could imagine how much pain I feel after my whole arm is drenched with my own blood.

I never can tell anyone. They’ll all think of me as crazy. Lock me into a psyche unit and ‘forget’ about me for good. Though I like to think of myself as crazy. But I’m not.

Why do I cut myself someone might ask? For one, I like to feel the pain. It tends to even out the emotional and physical pain so I can’t feel one more then the other. Therefore I feel nothing. For two, I can’t seem to stop liking the sight of blood. As for long as I can remember I’ve always been fascinated with the sight of that red fluid pouring itself away. It wasn’t till I turned 14 I realized a way I can see my blood when and where I want to. And for three, it’s a way I can forget about my dad, school, pain and anger with just one slit on my wrist. Just one slit, always takes it away. Always.

I think my friends all suspect it. They’re always trying to push the fact why I wear long sleeved shirts everyday, and when I don’t, I have wrist bands covering both wrists. Then when we’re all alone, they always try to talk about cutting. They all say the word ‘cutting’ and look at me with their eyes. Then they all sit there and just expect me to pop up and say ‘yeah I’m a cutter but now I realize it’s bad and I should stop. Thank you guys. You’re my true friends.’ Then do some big stupid group hug like Barbie does with her preppie friends.

But I always limit myself to about one cut every two weeks. I never cut while there’s still a fresh slit. I’ve always waited for one to heal before making another which takes about 14 days. I’m not sure why I do that to be quite honest. It’s just something I’ve always done.

Once my teacher had asked me about my cuts. How she saw them was I was writing my essay and she was pacing around the room reading over our shoulders and Brad and Rob had been passing notes so of course they got caught. So there she was behind me where they were seated, taking their note away when I thought she had left. Lifting up my sleeve to investigate how my cuts were coming along it was just then she had been reading my paper from over my shoulder and saw the scars along with that one stupid cut. She then whispered in my ear, “Stay after class for a minute.” And after class she asked me about the cuts and scars and I just replied, ‘my hand got caught in a door and it had scared me so I pulled it out making these cuts.’

She excused me from that, and as I walked out of the class Joe, Brad, Mike, Rob and Pheonix were all waiting for me asking ‘what did she want to talk about?’ with me just replying ‘grades.’ A lie. Not like I haven’t lied to them before. I’m always lying because I have to make these damn excuses for my fucking wrist. I truly wish I could stop. It’s just not that easy.

Sometimes I want to tell someone. Tell them to help me, and I need them there for me. But who am I kidding. If course they’ll just go around telling everyone else who’ll all look at me like I’m some fucking freak. But then again, I consider myself as one. Not because I cut, but because being a freak means not being normal. Normal is something no one should want to be.

My dad always comes home at night. Yells at my mom for nothing. All night I have to listen to them arguing and her crying. Her crying. It’s a sound no child wants to hear. It tears your heart apart to hear your mother scream for help and to break down crying. It makes me so sad and so fucking mad at the same time. Last time I tried to help my mom was about two months ago. My dad had beaten the shit out of both me and my mom. He made more damage to her though. I try to make him stop sometimes. I’ll come to where they are and taunt my dad to direct his anger towards me. It doesn’t always work. But it helps the abuse. After his anger drowns down I always slip next to my mother and wish her to tell someone. She has her reasons though. They’re not good ones, but they’re good enough for her. It’s then she leaves for the night and I stay in my room eating myself away.

School doesn’t come by too easy neither. I get bad grades all the fucking time. I’m always being distracted by thoughts in my own head. Those thoughts all cause me to fail. So basically, I’m not happy home nor school. Everything fucking sucks.

But sometimes I wish I could just drop the razor down, walk away, and never look at it again. Life would be so easy if someone could do that. But I find myself coming back to it every time as if it’s some life savor. As if it’s the only thing that matters and nothing else will help me. But that’s the way everything always seems. Everything is fucked up.

I do have to say though I do have a favorite cut. Actually two of them. They both cross over each other to make an X. Sometimes when I get bored I’ll sit there and trace my finger along that scar or I’ll draw pictures of it. Other times I sit there and write songs about my addiction. I’ve dedicated a song to that scar before. That’s how much I love it.

Someday, I’m going to get a tattoo to cover up the scar so I can forget everything. Someday, I’ll tell someone. Someday, I’ll be able to wash everything all away a new way that won’t involve blood, drinking or drugs. Someday…

…someday.

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Ok that’s the end of it. Could you guys give me a review with what ya think? Constructive critism is always welcome. Thank you!

~*~Cutting _Deeper~*~