Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Normality... is subjective
The night has come to an end. It's late, it's time to finally get some sleep.
You brush your teeth and smile at the mirror admiring how clean they look.
You wash your face and pat it dry feeling clean and refreshed.
You put on night cream and lip balm, brush your hair and place everything back on the counter.
You see a rubber band. It's new. It's clean. It's pretty.
You find a syringe, sealed.
You take them both in your hands, place the bowl lid down, sit and wrap the rubber band around your wrist.
You double it. It's tight. Very tight.
You let your arm hang. You slap it gently. You watch the veins rise to the skin
You touch them lightly... feeling the pulse
You take the syringe out... you undo the suction
There is a vein passing over your knuckles to your pinky finger. It's big
You touch it. You press it... you feel the resistance of the blood pressing back
You take the needle and position it firmly in your hand
You latch your fingers around the end and turn it so the hole is facing upwards
You place it on the vein... and push.
It pierces the skin. Effortlessly
Tiny stream of red flows into the cylinder. You are in.
You pull and watch the blood slowly flow out... and in.
You pump the needle in deeper. You feel no pain.
You pull for more blood and watch the cc's climb
You want more but there's only so much it can take.
This is not the movies. This is not a doctors office.
You pull out! The blood shoots out with massive force, leaking everywhere.
Your vein is open if only by a tiny hole.
You pull the band off, quickly and just watch the red liquid flow... and drip and drip...
And with a sudden urgency with no warning in sight, you clamp down the swollen vein and stop it!
Blood is leaking under the skin. It hurts now. You don't care
You take the syringe and face the mirror. You let the blood drip from it, drop by drop.
You watch it fall.... onto your hand, into the sink, onto a napkin, onto your face, onto your tongue...
Drop... Drop... Drop... You taste it
You draw a line of blood onto the mirror and watch it flow down
It doesn't go far... it thickens
You cannot get anymore out the syringe, blood coagulates too quickly.
This is not the movies. This is not a laboratory.
You throw it away.
You touch the blood on the mirror with your finger tips... and smear it on your lips
Red rosy lips. Blood red
You lick them.... suck them... bite them.
You wipe the mirror clean
You wash your hands. The vein is swollen. It's getting blue.
You press it, it hurts.
You smile. Time to sleep.
You watch the blue bruise travel down the vein as the hours and days go by.
You feel the pain.
You see it suffering and it's ok. Everything is ok.
The hole is gone.
You are ok. Smile.
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2 comments:
I've come back to this post a couple times over the past few days.
I know the first thing I want to say about it. "I relate"
It seems as though you're quoting a ritual I perform myself, before bed. I was so surprised as I read your words and I felt, my goodness, sometimes we aren't so far apart as we'd think... That is of course until I read of the syringe.
My toes curls and my skin crawls reading about the blood. It makes me ill, but I force myself to read on.... I wonder, why? Why extract the blood. Then why let it flow.
I don't understand. And I am quite content not understanding. After all I am just a creeper, looking in.
Take care Tunks.
I'm sorry this is so disturbing... It's disturbing to me as well when re-reading it.
Why extract the blood? why let it flow?... who knows. It's a rush maybe... or a need... or boredom... or maybe curiosity.
I guess it's good you are content not understanding... things like that are just so odd... maybe a mind cannot wrap itself around it other than the mind experiencing it itself.
Makes u wonder tho... to imagine if something like dat is normal for someone... normality really is subjective. All in our heads
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