A Theory Of Revolution

I-Destruction

                                 

I’ve had more than my fair share of ups and downs and it wasn't a rare occurance when i found myself in this position or similar. In fact, not too long ago I found myself gazing into the cold silver square on my wall again, searching to see some slight difference to what I had seen so many times before. Of course, every time I always found a difference but it was never a difference I could fully appreciate, in fact, it was always a difference I hated and could definitely live without. So here I was again, sitting on my bedroom floor in front of the mirror, staring. It was dark and I could hardly see, all that was visible was my pale skin and the whites of my eyes illuminated by the little light from the moon which had managed to penetrate my curtains and the shiny square on my wall reflecting the image of me, hunched up on the floor in my pyjamas, shaking.

The thought of what I was about to do made me quiver but it had happened so many times before. What made this so different? It felt so right. Tears escaped my eyes and I rubbed them furiously, knowing that in a few short moments I would be crying much more than I was now and I was just being pathetic. I ran the tips of my fingers lightly across the blade of the scissors then took a deep breath and began to do the same, but with much more force and anger, across the thin skin on the underside of my left arm. This was it; once I had started there was no turning back. I was trapped, spinning, crazed. The only way to stop myself was to draw blood now, the feeling of blood seemed to calm and soothe me, stop me inflicting pain upon myself. I continuously ran the blade across my soft skin until the warm crimson liquid dropped from my veins onto the delicate linen pyjamas that were hung on my body. The blood flow seemed to ease my stress although now my arm was sore and uncontrollably dripping with blood. Tears ran past my thick lashes one by one, slowly at first, then all at once so I could feel a stream of salty tears running down my face. It seemed like I had spent an eternity of just sitting in the dark, crying. The blood was still running, warm and thick, more and more uncontrollably, when was this ever going to stop? It had relaxed me before but I had decided enough was enough. I rushed to the bathroom, clumsy in the little light that was available to me, pulling the light cord with too much force, almost ripping it from the ceiling.

Then I ran to the sink without stopping, crashing into it, that was going to leave a bruise but my main priority was stopping the blood flow – I was not dying today, I forced the plug into the plug hole and flipped both taps on full. I was covered in blood, it was madness. Once the sink was full I turned both taps off and dunked my bloodstained arm into the warm water, cleaning it and restoring it (almost) to its natural colour. Tears still pouring down my face, I pulled a huge wad of tissue from the roll and pushed it against my arm, applying as much pressure as possible but at the same time being careful not to hurt myself much more, the damage was done and I had achieved what I wanted. I sunk to the floor, relieved that I had pretty much gained control of the situation. The only problem now was finding an excuse for what had just happened, the bloody tissue, the newly formed purple bruise on my stomach, my blood stained pyjamas and of course the new addition to the many cuts on my arm which was now turning a dark burgundy colour. This cut would soon scar and add the number of others I had from the many times I had “fallen on my radiator” and “tripped across the pavement” or even “been attacked by a savage cat” and, my personal favourite, “fallen down a steep hill” nobody could disagree with these as I was so accident prone as it was and there was no other rational explanation other than the truth, which nobody could bare to think of, but what would it be this time? I would think of it when the time came for excuses, now I needed sleep. Strangely something as small as this, although I was used to feeling this way by now, wore me out so much and I had to sleep every time it happened. I made sure my arm was free from wet blood and disposed of the tissue, pulled much more delicately on the cord and slunk off to my bedroom. After being under the covers for a few minutes I completely forgot what had just taken place and fell asleep, the only things on my mind now were my dreams.