Cutting

I have spent the morning crying mostly. Lost job due to depression and my capability to perform my job (mutually agreed) and have received an eviction notice from my landlord. After sobbing in a heap on my mock Turkish Rug and screaming/crying at various people down the phone I decide eating is the way forward. Not eaten since… not sure…. a dayish.

I take my sharp small bright purple knife and begin peeling some cucumber and carrot and cut them into batons. I watch the sharp knife easily take off the skin of the vegetables and have the urge to cut my arm – just a little – enough to draw blood not to need stitches. I place the cold blade against my arm still wet with cucumber juice. I stop. I take my crudites and a pot of humous into the lounge and I feel the start of that rush.

It’s in my head. It’s in my head.

I want to do it. I know it’s stupid. I know I will feel awful. Guilty.

It’s in my head. It’s in my head.

image: ganjasteppa.deviantart.com 

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