I cut. Pain sears. Skin breaks. Blood flows as the hurt escapes from inside of me. No panic, just pain. All i can think of is the stinging. Look at the blood, tiny little beads breaking through. Watch as it carries the worries away.
It’s mine. My thing. My blood. My control.
People notice. It’s visible. They question and accuse. I’m ashamed. I don’t cut any more. I leave the worries inside of me. They amass like grey thunderclouds round my mind. They can’t be shaken off or explained away.
They wait. Patient. Silent. Ever present, more dense an unexlpainable.
I can’t ignore them any more. The panic wells, the clouds rush. The tears come.
Chest contracts, tight. Breathing is hard. Unfocussed. I need to get it out. Get the worry out, it consumes my brain and smothers my heart. I scratch and it stings. Focus on the stinging. Feel the nails drag across the skin. Concentrate. The cloud lifts a little and i can breathe. But i know they will be back. I can’t let me guard down, i can’t relax.