TRIGGER WARNING.
My skin aches, needing something I know I shouln't give it. Everything is dark and quiet, even if I can hear screams all over the place. Oh, the madness.
I am slipping away from reality so slowly, I can almost hear the desperate crying of what little sanity I have left. Wait... Yes, I can hear it. Or at least I can hear something. It's quite difficult to distinguish madness from sanity anymore. The constant screaming of all those voices makes it too hard to even... to even.
I'm trying really hard though. All the energy I have left is put in one simple place: don't move. It sounds really easy. Why would I need energy to not move at all? Probably because every muscle in me wants to react, and almost all of the voices want me to move too. So when my whole world is pulling me towards danger, it's suddenly the most difficult thing in the universe to keep myself from moving.
I know what will happen if I move, because I already lost have of the battle. I was holding the scalpel in my left hand, and I was inside of the bathtub.
I didn't want to get here. It happened too quickly for me to hold myself. Maybe that's why it happened so fast. That part of me knew how good I was a restraining myself, it had to act very quick, before I even realized. And so it did.
When I realized what I was doing I was already here, but I immediately stopped. I stopped everything. I was breathing so slowly I could almost feel no air at all. Just enough to keep myself alive, but not enough to move my body too much. If I move, I lose.
But my skin aches. It itches, longing for the bite of anything sharp enough to make me feel outside.
The old scars are almost celebrating. Each of them a lost battle. But this wasn't a battle anymore. If I lost, it would be losing the whole war.
I need blood. My eyes are already dreaming about it. The whole room is covered in dark crimson: the floor, the walls, the ceiling; all covered with my imaginary angry red, I can even smell it.
It's always easier to deal with physical pain. It's a good distraction of what's going on inside. This is how the voices are trying to convince me. Just one tiny cut.
No.
I know it's a lie, I'm inside this head too, I can hear you plotting, that's not very bright.
But I want to believe it, I want to fall for it and it knows it. They all know it.
Darkness is moving forward, I can see it. Silent tears are falling now, the screams are louder. It's okay.
No. Don't move.
It's okay, this way is better. You know, it's all too much. I can't handle what's going on inside of me all the time. It never stops. There's never silence, nothing is ever easy, nothing is ever good, every day is Tuesday, every food tastes the same, every touch is so... empty. It's all so damn empty.
Don't move.
You just have to do it fast. You'll feel better. You'll feel. And then you won't.
Don't move.
I take a deep breath, my chest rises and breaks the bubble. Without moving my head I look at my right hand holding the weapon. Then I look at my other hand, my wrist, my arm... The scars. The scars that sing, calling for the scalpel. I feel my voice fighting, and I whisper:
No.
I close my eyes when I start to sob in relief.
I can't see the water is tainted red.
Never break the bubble.
Bathtub from Pixabay