Crimson Beauty

I begin to fall into a trance from the pills I had taken and begin to think about ending my miserable  life. I thought to myself to leave it to chance, it made no difference to me; I was practically dead already. People in my life had come and gone taking bits of my innocence along with them. Completely numb to my surroundings, I crawl from my bedroom to the small mundane bathroom. The bathroom reeked of cheap floral aerosol spray and mildew. As I lay on the cold tile floor I want to shed tears, wail, and call out to my mother for help. I tried, but found myself in a state of temporary paralysis. I want to feel pain; for I was already tainted, dirty, and unwanted at only twelve years of age.

I finally pull myself from the floor and check the medicine cabinet for a razor blade. No luck, instead I find an eyeglass repair kit; you know the kind you get for a buck down at the corner store. I instantly identify the small sharp-edged screwdriver and beam as if I have just found the tool to save myself from the agony that was my life. I shut the mirrored cabinet and took one last look at myself, I am a monster. Disgusted, I lean back against the wall and slide back down to the filthy tiles; casually pressing the jagged edge deep into my flesh. It felt remarkable; I could experience sensation and sentiment again. The sight of the inflamed red incisions against my fair skin was absolutely beautiful. Finally, I appeared on the outside as I felt on the inside; wounded and frayed.

Once I started I couldn't stop; one nick after another until I had no more tissue to slice into. I felt revitalized, almost as if I had been re-born. I spread out on the floor and begin to fall into unconsciousness. I wonder if I will ever wake up, or if my mother will find my bloodied corpse on the bathroom floor. My mother saw me crawling to the bathroom and asked no questions. Sometimes I wonder if she wants me to just get it over with so she won't have to deal with my issues anymore; who could blame her. I know there wouldn't be much fuss if I was to overdose. At least I would get to experience some kind of bliss before I die. I finally felt entirely at peace and pass out accepting my inevitable demise.

To my surprise, I awoke the next day in an immense amount of pain. Without the painkillers the wounds were just sheer agony. I gazed down at my naked deformed body and was mortified to see the inflamed abrasions. I ran some soapy warm bath water and slowly inched myself in; the pain was almost unbearable as I cleansed my wounds. I had to cover my shame for weeks with layers of clothing in the scorching Florida heat. I never spoke to anyone about that night. Over the years the scars faded; now you probably wouldn't even notice. Yet, I never forgot a single detail of that night, perhaps because of the absolute raw emotions that I experienced that lonesome night.