Explaining Self Injury

Copyright, Scott

With blood dripping on my keyboard at night I thought of these words which were not thought out. I went back to edit it for spelling but left the content the same.

That strong helpless fear that binds us, lost to help the ones we can not love, finding who we are and wanting to forget. Not attention or popularity; those were lost long ago. That basic primal urge to live growing weaker as we evolve through our pain and loss; going through life alone, always on the outside looking in. There are no consequences, there is no pain. The pain escapes with my blood. I temporarily forget the problems I can not fix. Temporarily forget the wounds I can not mend. A quick stroke and a guilty conscience. The pain helps the hurt. But it hardly lasts. No way to forget my true pain, my true loss, how truly alone I am. They don’t know how I feel, they don’t know what I have been through and still they cast their disapproving glances at me. I am less than them; weak-willed, unstable. I have heard it over and I believe them. I am weak. I can’t cope like them. I can’t live like them. I am less than them. The pain of knowledge makes me want to forget. Where hate should be is sadness. Sadness at all I have lost and how little I have gained. Not now, not ever again. Turning friends into enemies, love into hate and hope into loss. The story of my life told over and over again. Sure I have my highs, but most of them arent pure. My few true highs, accented by my many lows characterize my true person and embody my true soul. My passage to another time, another realm happens rarely, but too often as well. No body should need to escape, but none need that escape like I do. While everyone else idles away at their day, eating the foods I wish I could not touch, praying to the God I wish I could believe, talking to the friends I wish I had, I wonder. Wonder how divine intervention will affect me. Will I be cast to the trenches of hell for this? Will I be sent to the eternity I doubt exists? I wish I could be a normal kid with normal dreams and aspirations.

I wish I could look normal in the eyes of society. I don’t want to be a leader. I dont want to break new groud. I want to be normal. But normal is hard to come by. Especially for me. Especially for the 1% of Americans like me. We don’t fit in. We wont ever. And that hurts. We may even look normal but its that deep dark secret we keep locked away. Afraid to let it out, afraid to hold it in. We remain in a limbo with our secret and time stands still. When we feel he coolness of its touch and the comfort of its stroke time starts again. We feel right with the world. We arent the different ones. 99% of the United States is different. We are normal. We are one.

Time slows down. Back to our lives, with one more secret to keep. One more piece of us that isnt normal, isnt right. Evil. Selfish. Corrupt.



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