I couldn’t help myself.
Digging my nails into myself wasn’t enough.
I didn’t want to bite my lip because in a few days,
I’d be swapping spit with a stranger and I would have
No idea where he’d have been.
I squeezed down on my fingers,
And for a second
I thought I might snap one.
In my head, I was falling.
Even though he walked over
Placed his hand on my thigh,
Even though part of me wanted
To melt
And
Dissolve into his arms,
My mind was a million miles away.
Even as he bent over to look at me,
My eyes would not…
Could not...
Make contact.
He was just a blur.
I knew I was somehow holding my breath
And hyperventilating at the same time.
Was it really such a big deal?
So he woke me up and said some choice words.
Was he even yelling at me?
It felt like he was.
Ripped from nightmare to awaken into another.
It was everything I had not to lock myself in the bathroom,
And by lock, I mean...
Stuffing a towel into the hole where the doorknob was supposed to be, Pushing my back against the door
In a feeble attempt
To create some distance between me and the monster.
But besides the fact he could easily push the door open,
I wasn’t sure if the monster I was referring to was him.
Or within me.
The tissues piled up as I discreetly wiped my tears.
Don’t give him the pleasure of knowing he broke you.
But he knew
I stared blankly at the laptop in front of me,
Tabs open to self-harm help sites.
But I was just absent-mindedly scrolling,
The words barely sinking in.
Was I waiting for the moment to pass?
Or for him to leave me alone for a few seconds?
Somewhere in the distance an exasperated sigh
Signaled he’d grown weary of caring.
Or pretending to care.
My mind raced back and forth
Between demonizing him
And demonizing myself.
I heard the footsteps go down the stairs,
A fridge door open…
Then close.
And when the smell of food wafted up to where I sat, shaking..
I realized I’d be going hungry today.
But it didn’t seem to matter.
What mattered was the space I now had.
He had said I was bright red,
But I could feel the color draining out of my face
As I held the lit lighter at an angle.
In this position,
The flames licked the metal,
Heating it to a purposeful degree.
Time slowed down.
As I lowered the cheap 7-11 Bic to my skin,
I made the conscious decision to choose an area I could cover.
Contact!
Chills suddenly trickled down my spine,
Every neuron ablaze,
And for a brief second:
Bliss.
Relief.
Release
Relapse.
.
It was nowhere near as good as a blade.
But I couldn’t afford more scars.
At least not the kind that would take weeks to heal.
I pulled the blanket
The one I had made before my grandmothers death,
Around my shoulders.
Lit the green trinket again,
Kissed it to the skin of my ankle.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
By the fourth I knew I had to stop.
Not because I’d be caught.
No he was downstairs
Enjoying the food I slaved away to make yesterday.
I was convinced none would be saved for me....
I had to stop because I could feel myself ramping up and the goal was discretion.
Lest I be accused of trying to manipulate him.
The pain radiated upwards, a warm stab against chilled skin.
Suddenly, I was exhausted.
I wanted to close my eyes and sleep.
Instead, I took a swig from the bottle
Nestled against the foot of the bed.
Silence fell over the house, and even though
At the edges of my consciousness
I could pick up on the low tones of conversation,
The buzzing in my ears drowned out those nuances.
“Maybe I should just lay down for a second.”
Time passed, and once again he was in the room.
Despite hearing him come in, I still jumped when he touched me.
I forced myself to direct my gaze, but it all felt empty.
Words were coming out of his mouth.
Where they questions?
He was calling me weird.
Telling me how I was bringing down the energy in the room with my depression.
He asked me something and I nodded.
Once.
Twice.
Suddenly he disappeared.
He seemed happy.
Like in some twisted way, my brokenness brought him joy.
Squirreled himself away
In the bathroom I had original wanted to esape to.
I wondered...
If he was ******* to the idea of my wanting to **** myself.
I shook the thought off.
It wouldn’t be surprising.
It didn’t make a difference.
I couldn’t tell how many minutes bled away, but I eventually arose.
Tossed off the covers.
Lit a cigarette.
And allowed the numbness to take over.
As badly as I wanted to sleep, I knew dreams would offer no respite.
My mind merely cycled
Through suicidal scenarios I could not give into.
This is reality.
The last few days were an illusion.
I wish I was brave enough to draw a last breath,
but knew I had no option but to keep living.
Copright 2015 Monica Figueroa
