Category : Books-Non-Fiction

Sub Category : Biography

"Theres no such thing as normal" the reassurence was whispering at me from the back of my mind. Ive heard this line several times throughout the years. Ironically i've mostly heard that being said by people who are pretty far from normal. The whispering repeated itself. Its not convincing enough however, to get me to stop doing what ive come here to do. "Shut up. Im doing this. Fuck you youre not even real. You cant get me to stop" i thought back in rebuttle to the whisper.
  I took the plastic safety cover off of the razor and gripped my fingers around the handle tightly. I angrily held it in my fist with the blades pointed at the floor. I need to do this right if im going to do it. I raised my arm to where the razor was level with the top of my head and threw it down across my outer right thigh, rapidly repeating the motion several times. I had to do all this super quickly so i didnt chicken out mid-cut. Razor cuts feel simular to paper cuts i think. I read somewhere that a paper cut hurts worse then getting stabbed, at least initially. At this moment i believe that to be true. I openned my eyes, releaving them from a squeezed tight position, then released the scrunched up grimace from upon my face, allowing my skin to relax. I look down to assess the damage. Unfortunately im quickly dissappointed. There were four uneaven cuts across my leg. I could see only two were starting to bleed. I watched as two of the lines where id forced the razor across my leg formed little tiny beads of blood along their edges. Not good enough. Damnit. In the backround i can hear the other girls chatting and laughing from the downstairs common area as well as an unfamiliar creeking sound. The sound suprised me and i accidentilly dropped the razor onto the metal drain cover. Shit. It was coming from the room that led into the showers. I froze immediately and held my breath. I stood there like a statue naked in the shower stall praying that if someone was in the next room they did not know i was in there. After listenning for a bit i came to the conclusion that the noise belonged to the antique house i was in. The wood was probably flexing with the wind. I decided to turn on the shower as a precautionary measure. Aside from the noise it did feel strange to be standing naked in a shower stall and not showering. I watched as the water ran down my hips and washed over my cuts, taking the blood to the drain with it. I picked up the razor from the drain and prepared myself just the same as i had done befor. Only this time i took a deep breath first. I held it for a moment. If i could just make more cuts than last time and do it harder than last time ill be happy. I needed to feel the damage for at least a few days past today. As i exhaled my breath i threw the razor against my outer right thigh as many times as i could befor scaring myself. This time I was able to connect six times. This took me about three seconds to accomplish. I shot open my eyes and glanced down to see if id done it good enough this time. All six lines were bleeding down my leg carried by the water, the color of it quickly pooling up around the drain. Together, mixed with the water, the blood was a bright pink translucent color. It was satisfying to see it swirling within the water. The blood made pretty curls into it that sat around the drain for a moment befor it became one in color with it. The water made it seem as if there was alot of blood. Seeing it made me feel good. I no longer felt the anger that was burning inside of my chest just a few minutes ago. I knew it would come back again. I knew the girls here and elsewhere would pick at my willpower. I knew they would whisper and giggle, gossiping about me behind my back. I knew they'd be close enough to where i could hear them. At least for a little while until it healed I could just smash my hand over my pants into these cuts if i needed to. The more it would hurt me to be touching these cuts the more satisfied id become. The more i felt the hurt from my pants moving naturally against these wounds the easier it'll be to mentally remove myself away from this place. The distraction is priceless. It makes me a sick person. I know that. There was nothing i could do to change how it made me feel. No pill could take this secret love of hurting away from me. I wasnt even a cutter. I didnt cut myself regularly and it wasnt an addiction. In fact, this was the first time id even used a razor to hurt myself. When it came to things i use to relieve my emotional pain I was pretty limited here in this group home. They are pretty strict on what we could and couldnt have here. I got lucky when i checked out this razor the night before and the lady who'd handed it to me became sidetracked- forgetting to write it down on the check out sheet.
   I tucked the razor away by wrapping it in a washcloth and putting it in my shower bag. I turned the shower knob and grabbed my clothes. I didnt have a towel. Shit. I squeezed one of my wet legs into my dry clothes. It was not easy. My jeans rubbed against my thigh and immediately the pain sent a shock thru me and i started hopping around as if i just stubbed my toe. I had one leg in and one leg out. The leg that had not been inserted into my jeans landed on one of the pantlegs. I went in for my next hop up and not knowing my foot was restricting the jeans, i fumbled. Luckily i caught myself against the wall befor i tumbled and didnt make too much noise doing it. Aside from dropping my shower bag onto the lanolium floor the only other sound was the slapping of my hands hitting the wall. I held my breath and waited to see if anyone was making their way up the stairs to check on my tiny rumbling. Nothing. I let go of my breath and unfroze my body. After putting my pants on all the way and slipping my shirt over my head, i picked up my shower bag and headed to my room. Which thankfully was vacant at that moment. I shared my room with several girls as it was how the group home was set up. Nobody had their own room.
   This group home was called the corvalis house. It was part of the juvinile corrections system. I was released to here from a place called Hillcrest which is basically a prison for youth. I stayed at Hillcrest for about six months because the judge believed i was a danger to myself in the community. I was 17 years old. They released me to the corvalis house from there because i didnt want to go to my assigned parents house, nor did my assigned parents want me to be there.
   The girls here were just like the girls at hillcrest. Rude. I often watched them talking to eachother and having a good time. I listenned to their inside jokes and i listenned to their gossipping together. It was disqusting. And i wanted to be part of their group with every single atom i possessed inside of me.
    I layed down on my bed and it made a hollow crinkling sound. Damn bed wetters ruinned it for all of the girls living here at the corvalis house. We all had to have a plastic mattress cover on our bed so they didnt get ruinned. They were annoying and made alot of noise when you sat down on them. There was a light tapping on the door which told me it was definately a staff member. The girls never knocked. As the door inched its way open, a lady with sandy brown hair and mousy glasses slid in slowly. Carol was her name. She was an older lady, but not too much older. She was maybe in her late fiftys. In her hands she was holding a roll of cheesecloth bandage wrap, white medical tape, and hydrocloride. In between her lips was a tube of antibiotic cream. She looked at me and then scanned me over, her eyes lingering where my new cuts were. I looked down, there was blood seeping through the fabric of my jeans. I sat up quickly and acted suprised. She shook her head and then quickly set down her supplies on the bed. After taking the tube from her mouth she crossed her arms for just a moment befor reaching her hand towards her back pocket. She pulled out a washcloth. I was curiouse as to what she was doing but quickly realized it was my washcloth. With my razor wrapped in it. She must've been there when i dropped my hygiene bag. And judging by the supplies in her hands, she might've been the noise i heard while i was in the shower. 
   She stuck the razor and the washcloth back into her pocket. Then, without saying a word, she gestured towards my pants and started to prepare her items in a straight line along the edge of my bed. I stood up and started to cautiousely slide my pants down off my hips. As i was peeling the fabric down to expose the hurt part of my leg i could feel it starting to tug at my leg. Damnit. I could tell it had dried. It was painful to remove them slowly so i ripped them down quick like i was ripping off a bandaid. The cuts started to bleed in spite of my spontaneous action. Carols eyes got wide and her mouth dropped open in disbelief. She swiftly took some of the gause and ripped it off the roll using her teeth. She then pressed it to my leg to wipe away the red streams of blood that were slowly making their way down my leg. I shuttered as the gause ever so lightly brushed over the top of one of my battle marks. Carol kindly and quietly finished dressing my wounds and left the room. 
   I layed back down and stared at the ceiling, making creatures and other things out of the texture of the paint. My body was numb and my brain vibrated softly like it would sometimes after i took my pills. I started to drift off, not thinking of anything, not hurting over any words said, not feeling anxiouse, and truth be told- not feeling anything at all. I was mostly grateful at that moment for the temporary relief i had from the nagging and incessent need to be like the rest of them- to be normal.......