It's strange how healing works. I still have pictures on my phone from when scars were an angry red before they faded to a softer, paler reminder. At the time i thought they would never fade would always stay there, just as they were- I thought i would never fade either, would never change yet here i am two or three years later and a completely different person. Not healed, but the pain has faded, just a bit. My skin is no longer covered in red; but i don't know who i am without it honestly, I don't know who I'll be once everything fades.
People believe that red is a warm color, like red apples in July. The ones we wished we picked instead of the red crabapples we found. The warmth we found was in the sickness we got after eating too many of them, then it went as cold as the bizarre that same year. If that was the year I would had changed into the person I am today instead, maybe the blood wouldn't have dripped out of me along with the last bit of my sanity. Maybe it would have frozen in place and the snow would have remained purity white. Red isn't warmth at all, red isn't spicy as people would say. It is bitter, it is cold like how the blood runs down my thighs, I am not talking about the blood from being a ******* person with a ****** that cries ruby red blood monthly. I am talking about how the cold blood runs down my thighs, from my reopened scarred thighs, when I'm crying and begging for control of my body again. All I can think of is how I cannot stop until my thigh is that color, because then I'll see those purple scars when I'm sick again and again and again until I finally give in and stab myself. At this point, might be better than what I've done. What I am really is a hopeless lost cause, just a basket case
Sometimes, in the shower I think of all the hands I have let touch me And have to scrub myself so hard my skin blisters, Use my nails like a blunt knife, try to tear into a new skin One they have never seen I'm reminded of all the ways I have said no with my body, All the times it was ignored, And turn the water so hot I feel hell singing in my blood. I hear all the ways I said no with my tongue, All the times it was ignored, Bite down on lips that never spoke loud enough I’d sever this useless muscle from my mouth If only I hadn’t already hidden the razors. But sometimes, in the shower I think of the times I have touched myself Ran fingers over a soft-skinned body That could not do more to save me And I remind myself that this precipice of hatred, The dancing cliff-edge of blaming myself Should not lead to scars and blood in the drain I think of all the ways the water has held me Has embraced me for hours and asked me to give nothing in return In these moments I know a body is just flesh This sinew and marrow carcass of me Is blameless for the reaching hands Of the ****** and rotten bodies of them It’s just a frightened body And I forgive it I forgive it