I cut last night. I just been feeling like I am on autopilot, like I'm looking out of a window of some machine that is just going and going and going. I wanted to cut so bad cuz i'm sick of being stuck in this here-but-not-really-here perspective, and even though the feeling is temporary, a temporary reality is better than no reality, if that makes sense. I knew it would be a refreshing slap in the face--maybe it'd give me that brief peace of mind needed to come up with a perspective that would counter the depressing philosophy that's been plaguing me. I just wanted some relief. I NEEDED to feel real, if only for a little while. I really did try not to. I just stood there, trying to decide if I should or not. Three times I held the razor to my skin but pulled it away. I tried to stop. I really did. But I just finally decided that it didn't matter if I did or not anyway. I needed to breathe. So I did. I pressed it to my skin, only this time--idk if I'm just becoming more tolerant to the pain or if I was just too numb to feel it as much--I was able to dig a little deeper, so I bled a lot more. I stood in the shower, watching myself bleed. And for a few moments, it was beautiful. The blood was real. I was really alive. I could see my blood, my hands red with it, warm and flowing. But after a short while, reality faded. I had to keep telling myself over and over "the blood is real, the blood is real, the blood is real..." but it still faded. At least I got a break from feeling machine-like.
But to my utter horror/disappointment/dismay, I looked down at the cuts on my leg and saw that they look like a f****** barcode. Like I had just labelled myself as some product, some branded machine that belongs on an assembly line. Not human. I just inadvertently branded myself. F*** me. And on top of that, all the blood running down my leg reeked of metal. IT SMELLED METALLIC. MY blood. That which is supposed to be real, to be my link to reality, to life and feeling real, betrayed me, joined the ranks of unreality. The smell rubbed it in my face. The blood was no longer real, no longer a sign of life and reality. It just screamed at me that I was a machine. I bleed like a machine, like some hunk of metal that just runs and goes and goes and goes. I then felt like I needed to somehow change the cuts, alter them in some way to look more artistic, like they belong to me, like they came from some part of me, whatever that is, like they came from somewhere in my soul, whatever that is. I couldn't figure out for the life of me how to accomplish that. I had no idea how to make a barcode look like art. And I discovered that even if I could alter it, make it more beautiful, it would still stink of metal. I would be a machine no matter what the cuts look like, no matter how I bleed. I would always bleed like a machine.
Now I'm worried. I'm scared almost. I don't know if I can rely on cutting to bring me back to reality anymore. Maybe. but now everytime I cut I'll be reminded of how unreal I am. Maybe I can still cut to calm myself if I'm feeling anxious. Maybe I can still use it. But that which used to be reliable has betrayed me. I don't know how I'm going to counter feeling unreal now. Maybe eventually I'll just randomly feel happy again, like I used to. I can't seem to control my emotions anymore. I don't know wtf I'm going to do. I'm just going in circles. Life is just circles. Life is cycles. Nothing is permanent. Reality, everything, anything, maybe even nothing, is temporary. I don't know anymore.