5.30pm. The city heaving back to life again, the air filling with the symphonic sounds of heels clip clopping on the blue stoned pavement. The tires of cars meeting a rain soaked bitumen road, creating continuous images of fizzy drinks at the moment of their ring pull. The impatient bleats of horns, like lost goats, in search of the flock. It was dusk, the ageless time, neither day nor night. All that walk it's halls is layered with a film of deep blue, masking their timelines, they tread weary but with satisfied expressions of another day of punishment done with. At this timeless moment, we live in a world all equal, free from titles, creases, veins - all angelic and harmonious, as the sea of movement doesn't skip a beat.
I sit at the edge of my bed listening the distant sounds this world makes outside my window. My towel is draped around me lazily but consciously, I am still cautious of being seen naked by that gluttonous presence that sits patiently filling up the empty spaces of my room. My attempts to dry my hair properly have failed, yet again, as pear shaped droplets, unsuccessful in their attempts to cling to the tips of the strands, fall in succession and roll in a steady stream down my back, lightly tickling me. I close my eyes, desperate to remain focused, in this dark empty room there is nothing but a playground for an army of thoughts beating down the boundaries of my mind.
I part my legs ever so slightly, the fused skin of my thighs prickly complying. My fingers ever so softly take over the function of my sight, and trace a familiar path between my legs. Trodden enough for this to be easy and time efficient but not so new as to be a redundant exercise. A diamond flash of light appears from the movement of my arm, the outside light of the world for a moment met with my metal, I don't see it but the transparent curtain of my eyelids tell me it's there - my eyes are still firmly shut and will be until the end.
My next deep breath cements my body and like the cascade of lined rows of dominos, falling from a simple flick of a finger, I harden from my heart through to the very ends of my finger tip and toes, the weight I always know is burdening me has finally appeared in it's physical form. It is time. Silent. Steady. Slicing. In the same moment of time a violently penetrating burn meets an arctic freeze, both loyal friends and sworn enemies. With each tick of time, each increasing movement, my rigidity, my rigor mortis is eliminated, as each element of my body is detonates into gold burst of dust. every sound that exists unites, crystalizing into one perfect note - a moment of harmony.
I am a million particles, all seeing, from every angle, every time, outside and in, so real and so clear, so still, I see everything and I see nothing, all becomes meaningful and meaningless, I am shrouded in enlightenment and confusion. I am a whole perfect moment suspended, weightless and complete.
Dark, velvet tears weep from my flesh, it's always this that wakes me, my mortal being reforms again and I am disturbed. My thigh is crying, wetting me. I concentrate on the paths these tears choose to take. Each hair on my body has it's own emotional encounter with each traveling droplet, welcoming them, embracing the harmony of matter meeting matter, like a chorus starting to sing one voice at a time, all the way down to my toes if I allow the chance. The locks on eyes are released and once again I perceive this created reality. The weight settles back into my skin, like an old friend.
I pick up a towel I had set in preparation for this moment and press it against the inside flesh of my thigh, the outline of the cut has become a million needles and all the feeling I possess, has moved into this area of my body as if nothing else matters. An enemy infiltration and the troops have been called in for support - what they don't understand is that the enemy is one of them. The gold dust of my alluring perfection begins to fade, I always try and hold on with desperation, to it for as long as I can manage but inevitably it disintegrates through my fingers, an impossibility, like trying to hold onto water. The fat, grotesque form of guilt comes and sits heavily into my lap. I feel sticky and sick, why did I do this again? Why do I need this so much, why does my body, my every bit of being yearn for harm?
I head to the bathroom to wash the sin away, the coolness of the water soothes the burning fires, subdues the in-fernery of foolishness. My hands cupped like a human bowel, I watch as the water finds its way through my imaginary ceramic fingers. An impossibility. I am chasing nothing, I am running from nothing, I am afraid, of nothing. Nothing but a dream, a fantasy, a monster created by the electricity running through my head, fabricated through perpetual thoughts, a monster of thoughts, thoughts that are me. I am my own monster, I am afraid of me.
I look into the mirror and see myself looking back at me, knowingly, and I wish that I wasn't.
(This story is entirely fictional and the topic is serious. If you think you need help or assistance with self harm go to
reach out,
life line,
Kids helpline or
beyond blue for more information or to find support)
