Tag: selfharm

A Threesome with Death

I have recently started a new ritual. Every night before falling asleep, I hold a blunt knife against my wrist. I know my anatomy well, at least the at risk areas and how deep the cut needs to be for any actual damage. So with a blunt knife, even if I snap, I’ll survive. Because I don’t want to die, I never wanted to die.

And yet having my life standing on that edge brings me peace. The voices go away and the world gets smaller. Suddenly the world is just my wrist, the knife and death. The knife teasing my wrist with death waiting to get her share.

I have never wished for death but she is still the closest possible existence to what I want. And so I get swayed. The realization that what I want is not possible leads to my moments of weakness and the exhaustion just makes me want to settle. But the thing with delusional people, just as realizations hit suddenly, the delusions take over. And I hope, hope that maybe if I live long enough, my wishes will come true.

With the blunt knife against my wrist, every night I let my madness crawl. Sometimes it escapes in the form of tears, sometimes giggles, sometimes apathy. But it never leaves me for my body seems to pull it all back in when I put the knife down. Ahh the sweet taste of cowardice!

Hanging by a Thread

All these years I have never had a problem falling asleep. Except when I was caffeinated of course. With all the guilt, the hatred, the pain I have collected within myself over these years, although they made me dysfunctional in a number of ways, they never barred me from falling asleep for sleep was my only escape from all these needless whispers, these unclear, needless words floating in my head. People envied this ability of mine, close your eyes and almost a minute later, venture to a place where theories of time and space were no longer relevant. But guess people envied it a little bit too much for now, I’ve lost it. The one temporary exit I had, I’ve lost.

And then the nightmares start. While the brain’s wide awake, the nightmares start. A nightmare where I’m hanging by a thread, a thread that’ll snap and I’ll stab. In the silence of the night, these whispers become loud and clear as they take the shape of a heart that struggles to beat, of nails that struggle to not hurt the body they are a part of, of fists that struggle to not hit the beats out of the heart.

And every night, I lose this war and maybe because I lose it, at some point, I gradually drift to sleep and finally, go back to the place where I belong.