As the Flames Burn Out

When life gets a little much to bear1

And the world is all too cold,2

It's the heat that helps me through.3

The heat, not all of you.4

When pressure's piling up, 'round me5

And I can't find an escape,6

It's the heat that helps me through.7

The heat, not all of you.8

So little fire, burning brightly,9

Please help me with my pain.10

The hurt within my heart does quell11

When my skin feels your flame.12

As addictive as the shining knife13

But, not much flash and show.14

You help me hide my self destruct,15

From those who think they know...16

17

I blow out the match quickly at the sound of the noise. My parents are home. Hastily I hide the evidence of this secret act of mine. Opening a window to allow the small amount smoke to escape and wrapping the remains in multiple tissues before shoving them far into the trash can. They'd never know. They never do. Sometimes I almost wish they did.18

I had attempted to convey this problem of mine to my mother on more than one occasion. Unfortunately, one of these times happened to fall on April Fool's Day, the other was used almost as an excuse for something. Thus, she brushed it off as a joke, a gimmick to get them to notice me more. They always accuse me of wanting more attention. They think they know me so well. I know this is the cry of many teenagers, but if they really knew me… They’d know, they'd believe. And if I wanted attention, I wouldn’t be doing this in the way I was.19

One day, the conversation between my parents, my brother and I led to the topic of cutting. Don't ask me how or why we landed upon such a topic. I don't remember, we just did. My mother, being the nurse that she is, thinks she has seen a lot. And I'm sure she has, but all of the things she sees are physical, not mental, emotional. Recalling her days as a school nurse at a boarding school she spoke like a pro about how teenagers cut themselves for attention. That it isn't really an "emotional release," or what have you. The thing is, only the ones you know of do it for attention. Those who don't obviously don’t want anyone to know. So no one does. I held my tongue, not wanting to contribute to such a conversation, not wanting to be under any suspicion because of my views on cutting. I'm just afraid of blood; there are better, less obvious alternatives.20

I smile cheerily to my family as they walk up the stairs from the garage, fine tuning my acting skills. I accredit a lot of my acting to moments like these. My ability to make an emotion I don't feel seem legit took time to perfect. It's one of the few useful things that came out of this period of my life. Better acting. My step-father asks why I'm boiling water. I tell him I'm making some tea. He jokingly mocks me about my obsession with tea lately. I just laugh along with him, agreeing and smiling. Painfully, painfully smiling.21

Soon enough I escape to my room with my scalding hot tea that I don’t even want. I lock the door and sit on my bed before examining the painful patch of discoloration along my bikini line. I had chosen a spot like that because it is always covered. I had to be more careful with it during the summer, but unless my skin was carefully examined, no one would notice. I was very careful. Gently I touch the wound, sending a shot of fiery, liberating, addicting pain through my body. Addiction is said to run in my family, though it's usually with alcohol and such. My addiction was self-inflicted pain, and it had finally turned physical.22

Before the burning started it had always been emotional pain. I would convince myself that no one liked me and train my mind to analyze everything anyone said so that it always came out as bad to my ear. I was even attracted to guys I knew would eventually break my heart or put me in conflicting situations with others. My friends were normal enough, and they knew me as a contemplative person, never knowing quite what it was I was contemplating. But they were nice to me; they created the happy moments in my life. The others, though it was partly my self-destructive mind’s fault, created the not so happy moments.23

I admitted it once. Thankfully I was in the company of people either in no state of mind to remember anything or whom I was very close to. I won't describe the situation in which is happened, for it requires a lot of back story to understand why I was there in the first place. But it involved being in someone's house watching people do something that involved lighters. My friends and I were not participating in this act, thus we were thinking clearly enough to remember. But still my senses were addled and the lighters sparked a thought and the conversation sparked the voicing of that thought. So I told, and my friends remembered. I thank them for leaving the subject until I brought it up again. I wanted them to know the whole story, not just the words my run away mouth let fall.24

Surprisingly, knowing someone is aware of the pain you face in life makes it much more bearable. It's as if you are giving part of your burden for them to carry, and it gives you someone to talk to about it, if needed. Thus, my recovery began. I felt, and knew, people were there for me, the way my parents never wanted to be, the way I thought no one could be. These friends of mine genuinely wanted me to be happy; they didn’t want me to hurt myself.25

I never could have gone cold turkey. It takes time to wean yourself off of an addiction. Even one as unconventional as mine. But my writing helped me. Many emotion packed lyrics and stories came out from that period of time in my life, however recent ago it was. Writing and music are still things I use today when I’m tempted by an old habit. That's why I never leave home without a notebook. I brush it off with the excuse that I don't want to forget a thought that pops into my head, but that's not the main reason. It's a reason, but the real reason is much like the reason you bring sunscreen to a beach, you want to shield yourself from unnecessary pain.26

I was nearing recovery when my accident occurred. I was simply walking across the street and a speeding woman on her cell phone changed the whole course of my summer. She ended and destroyed all of the meticulous planning my mother and I had done for the family vacation that we were leaving for that very day. Thankfully, it was not my life she ended. But in a way, in a great, influential way, that event changed my life. I'm not talking about the fact that I must always remember to bring a brace with me to places I might be walking a lot in, I'm talking about how it made me think more about the gift that life really was. And that truly, I didn't want it to end. I had come so close to the brightest light that I had nearly been blinded. Left only with the colorful remnants in my eyes I stumbled aimlessly, wondering why I had been saved. 27

Waking every morning unable to move at the age of sixteen is a horrible feeling. The pain I felt, physically and emotionally due to this event put me at least near the shoes of those who have been eternally wounded. Paralyzed, amputated, bed ridden, any of those things. But I had a normal life that eventually would come back; I would soon be able to move with ease again, I wasn't missing any school, I had broken nothing, I had a loving family, and caring friends. There were people out there with none of that and they still led happier lives than the one I had been leading. I have this feeling that someone or something out there made me go through that. To clear my vision, to make me see the flaws in myself and learn to fix them.28

I will admit, I am still tempted, and probably always will be. Suicidal thoughts are not as common as before, but I catch myself every once in awhile. Especially in situations when I'm under a great deal of emotional or mental stress. I'm sure it will get easier with time, but now I need to learn to cope with this new optimism in my life. I still have slight social anxiety, avoiding eye contact and often waiting for people to start conversations before I begin to talk, but I'm working on that. Baby steps. All flames burn out eventually and the ashes will blow away, but the memory, the bittersweet light still in your eyes, will always remain.29