the SIED project
Support, Information & Expression: Daily life with self-injury
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The hinges creak slightly when the door closes behind me as I step into the bathroom. I open the
top drawer on the cabinet, searching for the hair brush that so far seems to enjoy eluding me.
I jerk my hand back quickly as my fingertips graze something sharp then I hesitate, an ache
filling me, and reach back in to carefully grasp the object. A blade. A razor, to be exact. I
sigh longingly, gazing at it, watching the way the sun casts rays off of it as it turns over in
my hand, the edges sharp and threatening to most. To me? They’re an invitation. An offer that
brings back so many “fond” memories that sit just below the ordinary thoughts. The thin,
delicate epidermis that splits so easily underneath the gentle touch of my old friend cries out
for the reunion I crave every time something, anything, touches my skin, but especially this. A
familiar shape, the curves I’ve memorized so well fitting perfectly into my palm. Times gone
past flash before my eyes in the reflection of the glittering metal: a bath in crimson water,
my nails painted red, a bloody sunset at the end of any ordinary day for what seems like my
entire life. |
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