Relief is the colour red

I close the door, search my room for supplies. 
Plasters, gauze, wound cleansing wipes, tape,
healing cream, tissue, a towel. 
A razor. 
I remember all too well where they are, I feel calm. 

Self care and self acceptance in self harm. 

It’s going to make you feel better, one cut will do it. 
I place the towel under my arm, 
I don’t want blood on the bed sheets, too obvious. 
I’ve done this too many times before,
I know the drill. 

I put the razor to my arm and drag it along,
Horizontal. 
Beads of red drip down my arm, around the sides.
I hold my breath at first but the feeling,
Instantaneous. 

Gasp for air,
The only thing that starts my heart drumming. 
Relief encompasses me, it feels like life again. 
My arm stings but I don’t notice much.
And that bothers me. 

Of course one cut wasn’t going to do it. 
Try again. And again. And again and again.
Try it vertically, 
Keep going over the same fresh wounds,
And old scars. 
Create new ones. 

Whatever you do, don’t stop. 

Relief is seeping from my veins,
Staining the towel underneath. 
Relief is the colour red. 

I grab the tissues and wipe away the tears,
Clean my makeup first, I let the blood keep flowing.
Just for a moment. 
Lift my arm up and put pressure on the wounds.
Basic first aid I learned aged 12. 
The same age this began. 

I hold it for a few minutes,
And try to calm my breathing.
Wound cleansing wipes next.
It’s past midnight now,
I have work in less than 5 hours. 

Clean the razor, remove skin from the blade. 
No time for plasters tonight,
They wouldn’t do the trick anyway,
Not this time. Or the last. 

I wrap my arm in the towel, 
Hide the supplies,
Throw a mixture of tissues in the bin,
Mascara and blood. 
And I turn out the light.