The Ecstasy Of Self Harm

Its a Sunday evening i am laying on my black and white duvet gazing at the white featureless ceiling preparing my body and soul for a evening of blissful masochism. Its been months since my last glorious self harm session. I have been lacerating my under arm for years since i was 14 years old. The aftermath of my mothers suicide at the tender age of 13 left me severely depressed almost to the point where i was contemplating suicide and emulate my mums suicide. Self harm was a escape from all that pent up sadness all the anger all the desolation of being a teenager who lost her mother. I would cut my arms with a dangerous sharp piece of glass. Cutting my arms from the same exact piece of glass for years a. As i cut into my arms with reckless teenage enthusiasm i felt waves of euphoria that permeates throughout my angst ridden teenage body. I through this deleterious action was able to purge all this negativity all the anxiety all the depression.

Rather than divulge my darkest secrets to a therapist of a close confidant i opted to permanently scar my arms my cutting deep as a profusion of blood flowed as i cut. After a night of privately cutting my arms after the bliss had worn away i had to keep this symptom of a untreated disorder a secret. I would spend weeks wearing longs sleeve shirts never bearing my arms to anybody never being vulnerable. This injurious habit remained a secret i only expressed why i commit self mutilation through unpublished poetry and short stories.

Today as the sunsets on a sweltering June evening in a uncharacteristically hot english Sunday i am preparing to once again cut and severe my arms as a way of purging all this toxic anxiety from my adult body. I am 18 now a university student i have preserved this dangerous habit of self mutilation from my tumultuous adolescence into the alienation of my adult life. I have locked the doors of my gothic bedroom now i am safe and secure to begin the action of self harm. All week as I have been attending university classes and going to work at the local bookstore which supplement the exorbitant cost of my university education. The stress the suicidal thoughts have been buildings to today when i need to extricate the anxiety the depression from my emaciated body.

Two weeks ago i suffered a harrowing panic attack on my journey to the dentist it was traumatic and emotionally scaring. Since than I have been trapped in a vicious cycle of a severe anxiety and escalating depression. I have nobody i feel i can safety confess or unload my thoughts to. I have student friends and housemates which i am close to put never would i reveal my battle with mental illness and disturbing habit of self harm. Today i need to expunge the pain the disquietude from my body and feel the pure ecstasy of self harm.

I lock the door double check now I’m certain it’s locked tight and i can began this ritualistic masochistic act. I have a itinerary of self harm that I meticulously carry out its the same tasks I perform since i was a precocious teenager suffering from depression and alienation. Firstly i pour a shot of American bourbon whisky into a tumbler glass. I ebulliently devour the shot of this delectable whisky that sends my head spinning.

Then i begin to play the music in my headphones i am paranoid my housemates will realise I’m playing music too loudly and enquire what I’m doing in the privacy of my sanctuary. The music i play at a thunderous almost deafening volume is a collection of meditative modern electronic music. The trippy sounds of tangerine dream reverberate in my consciousness. I have taken to play electronic ambient psychedelic music as i disfigure my once unblemished arms.

With the serene music pulsating in my ear drums i collapse to the floor and sitting with my legs crossed in a mediative position. I am sitting proximate to my dead mothers shrine which is situated on the antique chester draw. I mediate with the music and the beguiling effects of the alcohol that incrementally alters my perception of reality. After approximately 10 minutes of intense mediation in which i am preparing myself for the mutilation ceremony i get up roll a joint of cannabis. I smoke this big fat luscious cannabis joint with youthful exuberance. The hallucinogenic cannabis fills my lungs and transforms my mind my mood. This consciousness changing substance elevates me the anxiety dissipates in me i am in nirvana i am floating in the sea of tranquility.

Then with my stoned spaced out body i get up walk over to my chester draws look with haunted sadness at the assemblage of my mums photographs a single tear flows down my face. Then i gather myself wipe the fear from my porcelain face. I reach into the draw garb a maliciously sharp piece of broken glass. Its the same exact piece of broken glass that i used for my first foray into the ecstasy of self harm. I look at with a gleam in my eye i am salivating with anticipation at the thought of another session of cutting my arms.

My body is intoxicated with the brew of alcohol and psychoactive cannabis. I am stoned slightly drunk from a few shots of whisky before I commence the cutting i hit another shot of bourbon whisky. Another hit my head is spinning i am lost in a alcohol dreamland. I then get down on the floor with the tranquillising electronic music blaring in my ears and garb hold of the piece of glass. My right arm is shacking i struggle to keep the glass in my hand. I compose my body which is pulsating with adrenaline i garb hold of the glass.

Then I slowly and methodically started to lacerate my underarm with the piercing glass blade. My mind is transformed into a elated state as i watch the blood flow from the deep cuts. There’s no pain no sadness no despair as the anxiety is purged from my body. Again i strike my underarm with cut after cut laceration after laceration a profusion of blood is flowing from my arm. I feel for once alive i am feeling my pain i am a human a sentient being not numbing or repressing my pain but letting it flow from my body. This is euphoria this is a release of anxiety from my body its a cathartic experience a almost transcendental religious experience.

The panic attacks the body dysmorphia the depression the social anxiety all that pent up toxicity is expunged from my body. For once for a night i am emancipated from all the melancholy the torment of being me. I look at the wounds i take the blood run my right arm across the wounds and smear the blood on my face. I am lost in the moment in the exaltation of self mutilation with the aid of various chemicals that numb my body to the pain. For hours i lay on the floor in a mediative serene state listening to music feelings the pleasure of a night of cutting. Tomorrow the pleasure will be replaced by the excruciating physical pain that will parallel my emotional pain. However tonight the torture of being a alienated mentally ill women is replaced by the pure joy of self harm. Self harming my arms is a twisted sick for of therapy where i purge my body I let go of the pain. I’m too emotional repressed too unable to be emotionally vulnerable to another soul hence i commit physical harm on my scared body.

The next day I awake with my arms seething in agony. The pain is torturous i can hardly move Its that bad. I walk to the bathroom with weariness where i look at the grotesque sight on my left and right arm. Arms that are hideous that reflect how i see myself on the inside. On the inside I am a ugly deformed freak who is not fit to be loved who is barely human. Now the pain the ghastly sight of these scars are a illustration of my depression my self loathing.

In the bathroom i gently apply disinfectant to the multitude if lacerations. There’s a serous risk of these wounds becoming infected they are deep cuts that need to be adequately treated. The disinfectant is severely painful as I apply with tissue paper . Still the pain is intense it will though be a reminder of the pain of being me . I have marked branded my body with my untreated undiagnosed mental illness. I diligently make sure my arms are covered at all times wearing long sleeved shirts never baring my wounds to anybody. I hide my pain my self harm only i get to view these wounds only i will understand whats its like to be affected with a crippling anxiety disorder and depression.

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