Piece of my novel.

What I did to my body wasn´t anyone´s business. Pain was my way to escape, it was necessity. Without the pain I would have swelled like a balloon and then collapsed inwards. Become unidentified. Pain kept me attended, kept me awake and in touch with this word. It kept me here, embraced me.

Sometimes I felt terribly defenceless. Like I was standing on a steep downhill unable to put on the breaks. And no one was there to stop my sliding, reaching out a arm. No one was there to hold my hand even when I wanted to let go. I felt like nobody would stop me from falling. I would drift alone towards my early death. I knew I was going to die. I just knew it deep inside of me. I felt it but I couldn´t find any help, anywhere. Like I was floating by everyone. And they didn´t notice where my route was going to. I had no anchor, no breaks, no way to stop and turn back. No strenght left to get back where I once was, somewhere on surface. No one warned me or guided me. I was lost in the middle of everyone. Alone but surrounded. I was drifting, falling. All my senses were cut off. No sounds, smells or tastes, nothing to see but only crushing darkness. Almost apathetic I let the current take me closer to the vortex. It would take me straight to the bottom. And I was screaming someone to help me.

That panic was crippling. It smothered my last cries, tied my hands and forced me walk towards the gallow. My only little helper was pain, cutting myself. It woke me up, it was like air for drowning. Every draught hurt but every draught must be pulled, there were no excuses. Every single peak of pain was like heroin. I felt better and lighter. I didn´t care anymore about the fact that I had nobody. That no one actually worried about me. I was able to hear and see again. I did exist. I could feel the vortex, existence of the bottom and waiting depth but I was a bit further away, just for a moment. I opened my skin to let the bad blood flow from my system. My heart could beat, my lungs could fill up with air. Colors of my memories were brighter. I breathed. My hands were free. How could someone judge me?

Of course I had a loving dad and good friends. But they had no idea where I was going to. They didn´t see me or my anxiety. There were times when I wanted to stay in the bathroom, bleeding in the middle of blood circle. I wanted to sit there until my dad came in and found me. I wanted him to help me, be there and comfort me. I wanted to walk to him, show my scars and tell all the bad things I had done to myself and what I had wanted to do. I wanted to cry on his shoulder and let all the sorrow and pain go away with the tears. And I wanted to hear him say: “Everything is going to be alright, honey.” But I didn´t want him to think that I had gone crazy.

Sure I had done more than just cutting my wrists. In the beginning I didn´t dare to cut. I hold the knife in my hand and pushed it against my skin but I just couldn´t do it. Then my mom told me to do it. She said it wouldn´t be as bad as gnawing anxiety. And even now when I felt too helpless and unable to breath, I would beat myself up until I got bruises if I didn´t have anything to cut my veins open. I scratched myself until I bled. I ripped my hair and hit my body. It helped too but I couldn´t keep on doing it long enough, unti I felt saved and less defenceless. Once I hitted my side so hard that I think I made a small crack to one of the ribs. It was painful two months. And I of course enjoyed more than suffered.

Some folks say that they would like to be free but I wanted be chained. That someone would keep me close, warm my hands and brush my hair. That someone would care about me, notice if I broke down under the weight of my inner tears. That someone would miss me if I died. But I wouldn´t die, ever, if I just had that one person. That special someone would fight for me even when I dragged myself towards it, death. And I wouldn´t feel defenceless, I wouldn´t have to be afraid. I could breath and I would have a reason to open my eyes every time I closed them. No more need to be hurt. Pain hurts really even if you desired it. It tears you apart and leaves those pieces come together again as well as they can on their own. Like drugs will burn out the junkie before they tore that poor junkie to ashes, the pain did the same. I knew it but it still was better than agony, insecurity, living in a bubble. I still chose the pain even though I knew it wasn´t good for me. There was nothing else to use. The worst thing that can happen to you is when you bring yourself in a situation where you notice that you don´t have anyone to call for help.

This started to feel a bit naive while I translated it even though I was really happy with it when I wrote it.