Control Addict

Why am I here again? I don't want to be here. I want to be anywhere but here in fact, but I'm here.1

My breath is stuck inside me and I have to suck in deep to release it out into the air. I watch it turn into smoke when it hits the bitter coldness of the air. 2

The dumpster that my back is resting on rattles a little when I finally exhale and I jump a little, terrified that it will give away my secret hiding spot behind the gas station's convenience store. 3

I've come here so many times before and always for one reason and one reason only.4

Glancing around I'm flooded with paranoia. I'm constantly afraid that I will be found, and my dirty secrt unveiled. So far I've been safe, but I know it's just a matter of time. That's why I need to leave, and now.5

I tell myself this, but don't find myself moving at all. Instead I continue staring at the ground like I'm in a trance. 6

It's not like I'm even comfortable here. The wind is whipping around me, my teeth are chattering slightly and the ground is littered with garbage. I see several laffy taffy wrappers, some empty styrofoam coffee cups of various sizes, a sour cream and onion potato chip bag and then there are the glass bottles. Well by now they would more likely be categorized as shards of glass. The shards are why I'm still here. The shards are what I've come for.7

Yes I'm a cutter. No one knows that, except for you now. 8

It started the first day I sat behind this dumpster. That would have been a year, two months, and nine days ago, not that I'm counting or anything.9

I'd gone for a bike ride and stopped at the gas station that this dumpster belongs to. If you get here between two and five PM the coffee's only a quarter. Of course it tastes more like gasoline then anything else, but it's cheap.10

Anyway, I wanted to sit down. I hadn't slept in two or three days, and it was starting to hit me, hence the need for coffee. So after I bought my coffee I kind of cased the area, found the dumpster and realized that if I slid my bike in carefully and then climbed in myself it provided a safe haven where no one would be able to see me and I could drink my coffee in peace.11

While I drank my coffee I picked up one of the glass shards and played wtih it a little. Without really thinking too much I dragged the shard across the skin of my palm and was a little surpirsed to see that it left a thin red line of blood behind.12

I was surprised because it didn't really hurt and gave me a feeling of being in total control.13

Before I'd really thought about it too much I pulled up the leg of my pants and made another line of red in the inside part of my thigh. Part of me felt like I was above my body looking down on it as I carved the lines into my skin. For the first second there would be no blood and then the dark red liquid would slowly surface and dribble out a little. it was really fascinating to watch and at first I didn't really feel it.14

That particular day I didn't cut too much but a couple days later I found myself frustrated and drawn back to the dumpster spot. I got myself a coffee and went back for more of the glass. This time I pushed the glass further into my skin and felt a little pain, but I liked the pain, it made me feel more real, and my frustration melted further and further away the more the blood trickled out.15

Soon I found myself going back and not even bothering to pretend it was for coffee. I had realized that the cutting made me feel better, more alive, less frustrated, and more in control. When I ran out of space for cuts on my thighs, I traveled to my stomach. My cuts got a little deeper, but I was always careful not to cut so deep that the bleeding would get out of control. I needed to stay in control. The whole thing was a game of control, but soon I knew I was know longer the one in control. The need to cut was controlling me.16

This realization scared me, I told myself I'd stop. I promised myself I'd stop. I want to stop and I've tried so hard to quit, but it's like a drug, and I'm the addict. 17

It's been two weeks since I last cut, why am I doing this again? 18

My hand is clenched around the shard of glass now. I feel the burn as the pointy tip digs into the flesh of my thigh, this time it hurts, and the hurt's not just physical.19

I need to stop this, I don't want to be here.20

Somehow in my desperate search for control, I've lost whatever control I had left.21

I drop the piece of glass and head home.22

The addict has had her fix, but was it worth it?23