selfmutlilation lovers lament the feel of the razor's caress is intoxicating. . .with it comes its own sense of vertigo, weightlessness. . .sharpened edge passing over flesh, kissing as a lover would,tracing some invisible line, line becoming tangible. . .it's like astral projection 001121 ... pregconitive as if in defiance of my will, the vein migrates away from the wound from the old scars...taunting me i gave in and stopped trying i would not continue to pile more frustration on top of the bitter taste of failure it is not my own hand that will lead me out of this world it is not for me to do it is not for me to try i must await the appointed hour it'll be positively Shakespearean 001121 ... unhinged there was a time when i couldn't understand the scars on her legs...and then it hit me like a solid wall. as much as i would like to think i could leave him all behind i still cry about it. why is it that i am never a passing thought a concern in someone else's mind? i mean there are a few people i know...but i take advantage of what i do have and want everything that i don't. i always told him the truth. we were always fighting about the truth. he never believed a word i said to him i don't think. i still want to talk to him; about us about it about why. why i never heard him say he cared; my little test failed. i was always some kind of show. and when the show ended i collapsed. in on myself like a dying star. i never cut myself before you left me. i never did like change much. there was nothing else that i could do in protest. the pain was too great and abstract. when the razor cuts in, the dull razor that i used to cut cardboard at work, it feels so concrete so beautiful. it becomes methodical and therapeutic. i want the scars...the reminders. all the little white reasons why i will never have children. it always took a day for the cuts to show up because the razor was so dull. i would scrape and scrape and scrape at the same indentation the razor made in my skin to make sure it left a scar. and the red-glowing pain so much easier to focus on felt so much nicer. i left my razorblades at home intentionally when i came back here because i knew...but i brought them back. i made all my best scars here. i wonder how these scabs will turn out.... 001207 ... Rayne The blood ran down my arm like the tears I could not shed, and the pain, and the freedom, was exhillerating. My world would narrow itself down to my arm, my knife, and the pain. Nothing else exsisted. Nothing was ever real. Bar this beautiful release. 001218 ... freakizh like leaving you to have you back to make this time the goodbye much more painful 010720 ... Aimee I've done it... some of the scars are permanent, but others have faded or are fading... There are days where I miss it... I miss feeling that.. but most of the time, I'm just so happy to be feeling at all, and not need a knife or a razor blade to feel it. 010720 ... faded star its my way of reminding myself that you can hurt me, but i can hurt myself more you can make me cry, but i can make myself bleed when playing this game- i always win.. 030328 ... FNP90 I can make you bleed. 030329 ... sometimes is never good enough your comforting words bandaged my bleeding wrists I could hear you only over the ambulance i did it again macky fix the helpless stay away from the broken, only time I ever saw you cry for me when i stopped, you left and so did all my friends they left with you, ran just like i said in the beginning 030429 ... Freak Every day listening to my skin hearing my flesh scream slice me here im consumed with it anymore its all i think about all i want to do all i want to talk about at least im talking instead of doing and the only people i talk to dont want to hear it anymore so im done talking unless they ask 030916 ... tortuous the people you talk to want to hear it just as much you want to hear it from them 030916 ... unhinged for some reason, he healed my need to do it. i'm really not sure why. it's not like our relationship was any more healthy than the few i'd had before him. there was plenty of it that was decidely unhealthy. but it was the first relationship that satisfied me for awhile, the first relationship that healed some of the things that others had made wrong. when i get sad now, it doesn't consume me. sometimes, i get the feeling that i need to again but i never give in anymore. the day before i moved to milwaukee, my dad's family had a family reunion and one of my dad's cousins or something pointed to the scars on my wrist and said 'what's that?' like it was some new fad with kids like tattoos or body piercings or something. i didn't even say 'nothing' because i had been drinking all day. i just covered them and started talking about anything else. sometimes i notice people noticing them while i play the violin. now, i want them to be away. i want my scar_garden to be torn up and replaced with fresh soil. sometimes my wrists still itch. my skin itches to remember him when i can't even hear his voice anymore. but i abandoned all my forms of selfmutilation when i left youngstown because of him. suddenly i was worth something to someone. so then i was worth something to myself. i miss it all; youngstown. i wonder if these will ever fade. 030917 ... oldephebe that was very moving unhinged, ferret, et al - unhinged - it's none of my business but i'm glad you're learning to cherish yourself, honor your own uniqueness - out of the love of and from another youhave found a measure of self-acceptance - this is the gold you've garnered from within, a sense of self-worth - living on the edge of a scream tears a person down, rends the spirit, 'till the things we say to ourselves become a self-fullfilling prophecy - and yet some will say who am i or anyone to speak upon someone strappped in tightly to their subjective emotional state..or as a cognitive psychologist would say..we can slowly through disciplined incremental inculcation sculpt by gradations how the mind processes the emotional significance of stimuli - or lack thereof..and uses this information (yes, yes unconsciously displace or ameliorate those triggers, and add some new ones..a really rigorous renovation..)and uses this new inculcation to to control or suggest or inform behaviors apppropriate to the emotional meaning of the stimuli..that is if the cognitive psychologist had a strong spiritual tether..but i think you get the drift.. has the meaning been irretrievably obfuscated in that little clinical tangent..those scars endow you, or anyone bearing striations on their skin or in thier soul - with more than you think..our scars can be the path to anothers (or our own) healing..more on this later..forgive me for being intrusive unhinged - how did your recital go - the ah quartet thingy..were you able to find a decent viola? later, ... 030917 ... User24 lovers lament, you're probally not still around, or have changed your name, but.. yes. 030918 ... oldephebe..a surcease? never! and ah there's the rub, the meaning of the stimuli, what is an appropriate response to the "meaning" of the stimuli, i was trying to be so clever, or sound pedantic that i totally overlooked that pesky variable in the whole emotional equation - not really a freudian or a jungian..don't know much about either one..be frank and blank..heh heh heh..and now i'm coming perilously close to defiling these sacred streams unhinged, ferret et al have poured aspects of their beings into..okay so what meaning do we attribute to emotional stimuli? right.. and that is what informs the appropriate emotional response..thankyou for completing that faciley constructed syllogism..when we learn the Truth about ourselves..that tends to ameliorate to an extant the normal range of potential emotional responses..ah available..there is a personalized methodology that can be constructed to guide, to keep (me) grounded in the Real..sure the path is packed with mine fields a plenty..what else is new, and all the agendas, we wear our hearts out loud sometimes - so folks know just which buttons or threads to pull..some of this i'm writing merely for me, it's not like i'm oracular or imparting anything new, but that's just it the crux and the critical..there is a knowledge that is so basic and simple and pure, we've been weaned on the poison of this world, and the venom in our own hearts for far to long..spiritual enema "ya'll" ugh hate that word..but still..i don't think any of us were created to be miserable..i think we all devoutly desire to be happy, genuinely so..to stand tall against the gale..and not undermine our very essence by pursuing "happiness" or an idea of "happiness" that slowly grinds our bones to dust..laying the seeds in our bodies..to scream out in pain months, years or decades down the road..i probably should have put this and the prior post on ah somewhere else.. sometimes i feel the worlds ache so acutely..there is another way for us to be, even with our sensitivities..that's something that can't be scoured out of our spirit..but our sensitivity can be the avenue of our souls ascension or it's abeisance to the abyss.. what have i said in all of these musings..does any over arching idea crystallize into a holy halo of ahh's please be patient with me blatherdom..lord knows i've tested your patience enough already but i'm slowly growing into it's clarity or vice versa.maybe most of what i will share in subsuquent posts will seem like the spiritual equivalent of pap..corn mush for the newly spiritually indoctrinated, well if so..then at least maybe i'll get something out of it and if one other soul spins out his/her own leitmotif and is validated in his own eyes by her own soul then well yeah..pretty awesome.. ... 030918 ... magicforest fucking fucking fuck this fucking shit it makes NO FUCKING SENSE and it the most fucking fucked up thing fuck IS HURT 031026 ... ontherocks is a ridiculous wate of time 031026 ... ... go on then motherfucker, ridicule, I dare you. 031027 ... waz I wait with antisipation that final hour. Constantly tourtured by my mind and the goings on within. All chemical imbalances is what I am told, take this do that, you'll be right. I sit under a large tree, far from where any living person will find me. In my hand I hold a syringe, ten mls the capacity, where once it was one. In my other hand, I hold a packet, little offwhite oddshaped rocks and powder at the bottom. Some water in a small plastic tube, sterile to prevent disease, my mind is a disease. Those 1ml syringes bought me pleasure through dreams, while I dreamt, I felt no pain, no lonelyness, no guilt or sorrow. Once woken and things of that wonderful place becam further from me, I sought them back, 100, or 50. Now with this clear packet, rocks with bitter taste, yet so sweat. And this syringe with its razor sharp knifed edge, and this water, pur, clean and clear. The plunger is removed, the packet is emptied into the peice. With delecate care, the plunger is put back it place, held verticaly, pused down then into the clear pure water I place the blade, hollowed and sharp, drawing the cleanness from the vial. It fills the the number 5 on the side of the plastic, blade removed and thumb over the hole, shaking the contents untill all are mixed. Blade replaced, sharp, shining and ready. Searching my body, my arms exact. Ah...there it is the one place I know is still intact. The blade gluides gently toward the target, in it goes, so effortlessly, so graciuosly, so willingly. Drawaing back, the blood spirals in magnificent patterns, plunge down, draw back, see the swirls, taste the sweet bitter taste, plunge down some more, draw back again, now the device that once was filled with clear, clean water is no a swirling mix of my blood, the drug, my conciousness and all. My mind relaxes, some has there got, some still remains to finish this shot. The warmth, euphoria, a dream to be found. Only this time there will be no coming around. I saved this day for many a year, knowing full well that this be my smear. One last push and the plunger has plunged, to the bottom of the vessel that is intended to save life. Darkness is falling, my conciouseness waining, shear pleasure is rising from my feet to my crown. Yet this time I know there is no coming down. The years of sorrow, mugging, lies and decete, are eneded at last with a simple feat. Was told by a friend before starting this game, miss heroin sends the strongest to there grave, and once I decided to take her on, it was not very long 'till I realised the relationship was 'till death do we part. 040209 ... Warren(waz_wes) I wrote the above 040209 ... oldephebe some souls need the rigorous, multi-layered methodology of coping mechanisms..maybe..i think sometimes that's what acts like a gavel greeting the oaken desk..forcibly..it kinda subdues all the angst..in just the act of focusing the mind into a kind of codified straight jacket..angst ameliorative..uh...eyah..wait eyah is like a rural maine kind of response..i meant to say ..yeah...blithely noninterested in the words that leave my mouth... 040212 what's it to you? who go blather from