I can't stop. It just . . . keeps coming back. I can go weeks without doing it but the urge is always there. Growing. Pulsating. Screaming until I give in and cut myself. And the freedom I feel after I cut is. . .is like an orgasm. You feel so satisfied and beautiful afterwards. I let the blood linger and drip to the floor, then i use a finger to wipe it away. I bring the blood to my lips and let it linger. I poke my tongue and take a taste. Refreshing as it is, I only allow myself one taste. I never wipe my razor of my blood. I carefully put it back in the case along with other razors, needles, and pins. I gently press my bloody rag against my arm where the blood continues to flow. I feel the blood seep through the thin tattered cloth. Oh God, I shudder. My eyes roll around and my head spins. The room topples on to me. I bite my cherry red lip to keep from screaming. Tears squeeze out of their holes and stream down my face like a river. I cry myself to sleep. The night passes in twists and turns; morning streams into my room. I roll over and look at my arm. Blood dried to my skin, the rag now on the floor; thank God no one came into get me up. I fold the rag and put it away with everything else. I tip toe to the bathroom and gently wash the dried blood off my arm. The cut is deep, but I'll make through in another day. I grab a band-aid and go back to my room. I get dressed in all black and long sleeves, even though it's mid-summer. I slip out before any other members of my family rise, I walk around the city park till around 10 AM, then I go to the library and read until 5 PM. I walk back through the park, happy couples picnic around me; trying to keep each from tearing the others clothes off. Health nuts jogs, walk and run all over the place. College boys through a football around. People are reading, playing with their dogs. Everyone doing something. Not noticing me. Thankfully.

My parents say nothing to me as I walk through the door. Supper is already been served. I almost pass out from the sight of food. Nothing but my blood will nourish me. I go on the computer and check my e-mail, talk with a few friends, make up a bull shit lie and log off. I go to the bathroom and lock the door. I peel each of my clothing attire off. Slowly. Taking my time. First my pants, then my shirt. Next my socks, under-wear come next. I unclasp my satin bra and turn to the full-length mirror on the back of the door. My sunken cheeks and pale face give me the apperance of a skeleton. My ribs are poking out, my breats are still full and shapely. My hands move up to them and squeeze them slightly. I have always had an obsession with breats. If I was a male, I'd blame it on the fact that I was breast-fed. Maybe that can go for females too. I move my hands to my crotch. Fingers lightly making their through the curly bush of hair. I close my eyes and sigh. I move to the tub and start the bath water. I squat down on the toilet and pee.

Finally, the water is where I want it. I open my drawer and pull out my razor. I have them all over the place, I set it on the edge of the tub and slip in. The water is so hot, my breath catches in my chest. I bite my lip and endure the pain. I peel my bad-aid off and set it next to my raozr. I sink farther into the water. I'm up to my chin in water. Piping hot, blistering water. I close my eyes and attempt to relax. When I open them, the water is red. I realize I am holding the razor. I hadn't even known I grabbed it and cut my arm. I bring my injured arm up and see the blood practically gushing out of it. I drop the razor in shock, I've never cut so deep before. At first I'm scared but I get over it. I sit back and let the blood flow. The water gets redder and redder and redder and redder. . .

I don't even hear the ambulance, don't hear them unlocking the door, rushing in. A man, late 30s, picks me up. Someome covers me with a towel. I see the light, the door way, the ceiling all pass over me. I close my eyes. They were too late. Too late.