I didn't go near a razor again until I was a teenager in high school.
By then I'd mastered arching my eyebrows, but I'd also began using the razor in another way. I didn't understand why and didn't ask anyone for fear of being seen as crazy. On occasion, I felt the most irresistable the need to cut myself. I didn't associate it with anything at the time, but I couldn't resist the urge to do it. At first it would only be a matter of pressing the point of the razor into my skin to draw a little blood. But as time passed, I began to cut lines into my arms, wrists or my thighs. By the time I'd graduated high school, I'd carved my nickname, Bukey, into my left thigh...and I knew I had to stop. So I made a promise to myself...I'd never use a razor to disfigure my body again as long as I lived. I was pretty proud of myself for sticking to that...until I began reading about self-injury recently.
My interest in the subject of self-injury came from discussions with members of my online survivors club Charon's Journey. During my inquiries, I discovered that although I don't cut myself with a razor anymore, I'm still a self-injurer. Why? Because from the time I was a youngster until this day, I've NEVER allowed a wound on my body to heal without interference!!! From pimples and mosquito bites, to accidental scratches and surgical incisions, I HAVE to pick at it until it bleeds, and as soon as the scab forms, I dig into my skin until I pull it off...and I continue to pick at it until it becomes an awful scar. If I develop a skin rash, I scratch until it's bloody. And the pain I feel while doing it doesn't deter me one bit. Yes, I feel guilty afterwards, but I also feel some sense of...relief.
 |
 |
 |
 |
