Raw

You see the edge of a blunt blade as you slowly bring it to your wrist.

It starts with a dull sensation as the blade goes back and forth across the thin skin. 

Then comes the searing pain; the skin finally rips.  You know it is coming, yet a part of you is still caught off-guard by the immediacy of the sensation. 

But you do not stop, even as you see the warm blood slowly trickling down your arm.

You continue shearing the skin until you see the gaping, pink flesh through the jagged tear of the skin.

And as you cotinue this act of self-mutilation, you wonder, 

will this pain override

the pain you suddenly feel in the middle of the night

when your defenses are down,

the pain that is brought upon

by being utterly

lonely?

-----

Sometimes I wish I were more of an emotional person instead of a rational one.  At least with emotional people, they are used to handling emotions of all sorts, be it simple joy or profound sadness.  

I am not one of those.

I tend to intellectualize feelings until they are altogether stripped off their value as feelings per se.  What are left are neat, arranged, and sterile packages ready for filing into the cabinet of compartmentaliztion.  Hence, when faced with strong surges of emotions, I have a problem dealing with them.  When I was younger, I used to deal with this raw feelings by hurting myself.  But through the years, I have learned to stem this behavior by acknowledging the feelings, savor them for a bit, and then letting them go.

But I will be honest.

Sometimes, just sometimes, the thought of the blade slicing through my skin is very tempting indeed.