Anxious Poppies

The Beginning

In about 6th grade, everything in my life shifted.

I was always one for leaning towards the bigger words in my vocabulary, but around 6th grade, I got edgy, started writing poetry, and the only time it was good was when I poured my emotions into it, which were usually negative emotions. If there had been any red flags screaming at the top of their lungs like wild screaming banshees to alarm anyone that something was wrong, those notebooks I wrote in were it, and I still wish to this day that instead of trading off my journal with my friend so we could read eachothers pain and "support" each other, I handed it to someone who could have helped.

But I was a dumb kid, who entrusted my deeoest, darkest pain with someone else who did the same with me. Shoula, coulda, woulda, hindsight is 20/20, insert more generic "you can't change the past" lines here.

Then my cousin showed me how to burn myself with an eraser. After that, I explored other ways to unflict harm on myself because god the rush floored me. The emotional pain was gone and filled with a more real pain.

I remember that day well. Not the date, but the moment, we acted like it was a big joke but after that, my separation from others only grew as I distanced myself heavily and had a panic attack anytime anyone talked to me.
That one eraser burn turned into two, then five, then I stepped up my game and broke my professional, expensive, pencil sharpeners and used those to make the first cuts on my skin, but they were small and hard to handle. So I raided my father's work space and found the box that held exact-o blade replacements and box cutter and dry wall knife replacements.

Running upstairs, I opened the brand new box in my room and grabbed the first blade my fingers found in the darkness. A dry wall knife blade. Sharp, gets the job well done. I turned it over carefully in my fingers, watching the moonlight bouncing inside my room reflect off the metal, I felt the cool metal on my finger tips and continued to observe the object.

The people who made it had no intentions of harm. They're goal was to make something that could help people cut dry wall easily, help build or repare homes or other buildings. What would they think about people using their product to inflict harm upon themselves? Thinking about reality, they probably wouldn't think much of it, as most companies are produce, produce, produce, money, money, money. Though I'd like to think someone would care.

Taking the blade to my skin, I pushed and dragged quickly. I stared in awe at how there was nothing for a moment, and then suddenly, little rubies sprouted out of the line. First tiny, but then they continued to peak out until they pooled over the side.

It took unintentionally pricking my leg to bring myself back to reality and finding that my arm hurt in the place of the rubies. Blood was everywhere and I found myself realizing I hadn't planned clean up or infection prevention.

I apologize for taking so much of your time explaining in detail the first time I ever held a blade to my own skin. You see, out of all the experiences of that time, my 6th grade experiences, this is the only one I remember.  Everything else was a blur.

In seventh I tried killing myself during class, kept getting up, going to the water fountain and taking a handful of advil PM everytime. Looking back it wouldn't have killed me and it was a waste of my time, could have learned my math.
But by then, I remember I had 31 marks on my body ever since that day with my cousin, and ever since that day I took a blade to my skin.

I found, ironically, that the anxiety and depression made me numb. When something happened, I'd shut down, not disassociate, that's a different disease in itself. But I'd 'float' away I guess. Day dream, mentally check out. And that was before the drugs.
The cutting helped. How? The pain always brought me back to reality. As if while I pulled the blade along my skin, I pulled a leash on myself and pulled myself back to Earth. I felt things again, they may have been painful things, but I felt them nonetheless.

But then I felt too much.