15 months

​And then it happened and her demons won. For 15 months she had fought them off and now she had lost the battle. Just two small cuts. Usually, she only made one deep incision. But cutting along existing scars proved challenging. And fascinating. The way the skin stretched without breaking. The way she realised that the pain from cutting her skin stopped the moment it began to bleed. She didn’t feel the usual calm settle down over her. This time, she stayed agitated. Two cuts. Very small, yet there. Affirming her failure. Affirming that she was just a freak. Nothing more. She grew restless. Determined to punish herself and her body. Transfixed, she watched the drops of blood sliding down her wrist. Had it ever bled like this? Was she done or was there more cutting to do? She started shaking violently and cleaned the box cutter before returning it to its place on the shelf. She ran her arm under the sink and still shaking, she lit a cigarette. She claimed to be a non-smoker but once in a while, she liked the taste of her Luckies. This time, it was different and still shaking all over, she felt so nauseated that she put the cigarette out. She considered drinking a shot of vodka, but she had promised to herself to be abstinent from alcohol and carbohydrates for at least two weeks. She had no intention of breaking that vow. Even under these circumstances. Or was it despite them?

But what was she supposed to do? All alone. She called her best friend but she was busy. It was the usual scenario: she needed someone but the world was too busy to care. She never pretended to be the center of the universe, but she gave all the time and when she needed a shoulder, some support, nobody was there. On a whim, she messaged her ex-affair. It would have been their one-year anniversary. Did he know? He didn’t but it was okay. The moment she heard his voice she had to swallow down a wave of tears. He had always listened. And even now, he did the same. Giving gentle advice, never judging. He held his narcissistic self under control while she confessed and confided in him what she had never confessed or admitted to anyone. She had harmed herself. Now she felt ashamed and exhausted. The tension hadn’t left. But his voice was reassuring, comforting. She never wanted to show him his weaknesses, but now she had done it anyway. He knew. She was naked, soul-stripped in front of him. He stirred the conversation into a different direction. And she let him, fully aware that he was asking for something in return. On a path to self-destruction phone sex with him was just another step forward. Was she his prostitute? Allowed to unload her emotional crap as long as she paid her debts with her body? She hated herself either way. This didn’t change a thing. And yet, she felt proud when she heard his moans and his breathing. She didn’t feel dirty or ashamed that he had made her cum twice too. It were just words. A fantasy. And sometimes, it was more. Like that day. When it released the rest of the tension that had kept her on edge. And when he told her so, she had laughed out loud. A genuine sound. The earlier thoughts were forgotten. She was still shaking all over. But there had been someone who had caught her and it meant a lot to her. On a day, when she had hinted so many times at all the things that weren’t right and nobody thought about asking if she was okay, on a day when she felt invisible and unseen, one person had seen her. And he had loved her. For how long didn’t matter. He had been there. And it had indeed changed her day. Her demons were still hiding in the shadows. Bloodhounds. She wasn’t sure if she could keep them at bay. For she would try. 15 months or longer.