Relapse

relapse
I wake up to screaming, the usual fighting scene happening in the background of my mundane life. i roll over and pull the blankets over my head for just a few more mere moments of dreaming that i can’t even remember now.
“get up.” 2 missed calls later, “It’s time for school” 4 missed calls later,“you’ve already missed first period.”
dad screams my name, which sends shivers down my spine and makes my throat dry. Yet I lay there. still. I don’t know why.
I dont cry this morning as dad barges into my room, demanding i get up. Instead i lay im bed for 20 more minutes, contemplating, then finally i get up. turn off the hall light, and slam my bedroom door closed. At this point I was seething with anger, but it soon turned to that familiar empty feeling. exhaustion maybe.
It was a cold November morning.
Dad drives me to school, spouting off any thoughts entering his mind, trying to make small talk and be optimistic like usual. But im in my own head today, too tired to respond.
As we arrive at the front of my Highschool, i let out a deep sigh, Preparing myself for whats to come.
He tells me he loves me, i get out of the car, he tells me i can talk about anything i need to with him, i close the car door & walk away. He yells my name, my nickname as i walk up those dreaded steps and into hell. I don’t look back, he doesn’t sound worried or sad. Whatever. I wont dwell. I walk into the terrifying building and head straight to the restroom, its my empty oasis, i lock the stall door behind me and begin looking through the razor blades in my pocket, examining which are bloody, rusty, & clean. Despite wanting to harm myself, im always terrified of getting an infection. I don’t know why.
I fold the paper of the blade back, wrap it around the razor & press down onto my skin hard. with a sharp inhale I pull it across quickly, little dots of blood form on the red line. Then again, in the same spot. It fills white with red dots, then again, same spot. It’s bigger, wider, its like i can feel my pupils dilating. Why is this feeling so rewarding? Again, and again, I cant stop now, I’ve got to chase this high, it makes me so happy to be alive.

but. It seems like as soon as I begin, the restroom gets bombarded with what im assuming at the time was cheerleaders? still unsure.
They pound on the stall wall next to me, and the door in front of me. I sigh loudly, blood drips onto my unwashed sweatpants, me being alive is a bigger hassle for others than it is myself sometimes. But nonetheless, i pop in my headphones & continue my self-destructive habit.
The blade slices through my skin like a cats claws going in for an attack, fast and sharp. The initial shock takes the pain away for an hour,
I noticed a little later, dad hasn’t texted or called me. whatever. I don’t really care.
The cheap tissue kisses my wounds, leaving red smears all over my frigid skin.
Red liquid oozes down my forearm which after a few moments of absolute peace, turns into a trail of sticky goopy blood clots, bloody tissues, and a puddle of guilt. It’s cold, it stings, it burns, but it’s strangely comforting.
It’s nice you know? The initial rush, that feeling of satisfaction, it takes the edge off for a day or two. Well until it doesn’t.
The scars form within a day or two. It no longer burns, it itches, it screams, my nerves ache, & my stomach is queasy but my brain wont let me rest again until i rip my skin apart once more.
So until another sad morning in the school restroom, I’ll bite my tongue, bandage my wrist, and go to class
. Late.
I already want to go home.