lost in paradise

CUT

I took the blade to my skin. The feeling wasn’t unfamiliar to me at all. Just resting the cold metal piece against my skin was enough to calm the shakes of anger, depression and loneliness, but not enough to stop the feelings from coursing through my body. I pressed it down hard before dragging it swiftly across my pale wrist. Redness overpowered my colorless skin. I took a deep breath, while repeating the pattern up until my elbow. The blood was now steadily pouring out of the gashes, which was very soothing. I watched it drip into the sink, leaving red streaks on the white marble. Pain was flowing out of my body and it was relaxing to watch. I grabbed a towel to slow the bleeding and it eventually stopped. I slumped down against the pale wall and fell to the floor. I took the towel off my arm to reveal jagged red lines scattered across my scarred arm. This was not the first time and it won’t be the last. I sighed, letting the last of my emotions escape from my being, leaving me lifeless and inhuman. I looked over at my room across from the bathroom and caught sight of the clock on my dresser; it read 11:11pm. I gently grabbed my arm and made my wish: Please let tomorrow be a better day. I knew it was a far-fetched wish, not even believing that any wishes came true, but I still hoped that maybe, just maybe, this time something good would come. I picked my heavy body up off the ground and entered my room, taking a moment to examine the neatly kept area of my belongings. I lay down slowly on the bed, not allowing the blankets to touch my arm. I relaxed with my eyes closed and my throbbing arm stretched out across the scarlet sheets.
Tonight, I did not have to cover myself up because my parents were gone for the weekend. Finally, for tonight, I could be myself. I rolled over and stared at the lines that had now become apart of me. I traced across all of them, cringing every time my finger came in contact with the raw cut. As I got farther up my arm, I became more and more restless, counting the present markings. Fifteen. I had fifteen gashes covering up the scars upon scars that I tried so desperately to hide, but their presence was still strong. This time there were only fifteen. Fifteen cuts for the fifteen things I found wrong with myself, though there were plenty more. Fifteen cuts for the number of years I’d been desperately trying to make friends and the fifteen years I’ve been acting as if being alone is okay. Fifteen cuts for the amount of times I was insulted today and the fifteen days it has been since my last cut. Fifteen cuts for the number of ways I’ve imagined killing myself. How did I ever let myself get this bad? One tear escaped, followed by another. This triggered an endless waterfall of tears accompanied by wheezing as I tried to breathe. I slammed my fists against the wall, hurting myself more. I was trying to resist the various emotions that somehow managed to re-enter my body that I swore was empty, but I couldn’t fight anymore. I curled up, under the covers and cried.
I was startled; awakened by the sound of a door closing. My parents. I rubbed my eyes, unknowingly rubbing my arm against my face as well, causing a surge of pain. I discarded the hurt and scurried out of bed to get dressed in something that covered the red still engraved into my skin. Before I could manage to get my sweater on, my parents had materialized outside my door, both staring at me with dazed and confused expressions. I knew that look. It was the same look my so-called best friend gave me the last day she ever talked to me, the look the teachers gave when I had to pull up my sleeve, and the look that means they now know. I backed up against my dresser, holding my arm close as they continued to examine me, as if they were seeing me for the first time. I wasn’t sure why I still forced myself to hide it, as if concealing the damage means this wasn’t real. I needed to take