2 years.

Today after today I will be 2 years cut free. I still have a lot of scars that probably will never fade, but you know what? Who cares. They show my battle and my struggle for self acceptance and for trying to find/make my place in this world. They show that I’m strong for making it this far. They show that I know how to survive. They are a daily reminder of how far I have come and how I never want to look back. They show me how much more comfortable I feel in my skin now. They show so much emotion and rage and sadness. They tell anyone who I care enough to see them the story of my journey so far. I don’t mind having scars forever if it means I have earned my place in this world by fighting to make a place for myself. I am here. I will not be silenced. I will not be forced into the oblivion. I am me and no amount of scarring can change that.

Yearning.

I can feel each scar burning on my skin as they did the night i made them. The intensity on some of them is so great it is almost unbearable. It is as if my blood is made from lava and is pooling in those spots, waiting to be re-released and flow to the ground like a waterfall of blood. 

I’m squirming in my seat, uncomfortable with anything and everything. My skin feels like it is a beast of its own mind and it is crawling and wishing to be splayed open. To release this beast from within me. 

But the beast can only be released if the opening was done just perfectly. It is never done just perfectly. so the beast grows ever impatiently inside my veins. Getting angrier and more restless with each failed attempt.

I can see the would have been wounds on my skin. clean and bloodless like I just washed it clean and right before the blood starts pouring from it again. The skin splayed open, parted to let the air in, to help me breathe. After a cut I’ve always felt there was more oxygen in my blood stream than any other time in my life. It was an invigorating feeling. But the burning soon takes over and the oxygen seeps back out of the wound as it closes up. 

All those would be wounds on my skin are screaming, all at once in their own voice. the constant chatter in my brain is making my brain crawl while my skin crawls its own way as well. I can feel the burning of the lava under each would-be cut and the searing hotness of the cold blade ripping through my skin. 

I’m trying not to hyperventilate from all the things going on, all the imaginary movement on my body and in my brain. It is so much to handle. Almost too much to handle.

Awakened.

Reading that book was a bad idea. I should have never started it. I didn’t know it would have these things in it though, so I can’t blame myself for that. But this books has turned on a switch in my body or my head or somewhere. It’s released a creature in my skin and it crawls around scraping at my skin from the inside, licking it in places to make it burn, slipping poison into my blood to hallucinate these images of my skin carved in just the right way to release this beast. But I’d have to get it right the first time or I will have to try again, over and over until it is right and the creature can crawl free.

But that’s just it. It is never done just right, the creature is always there lurking, it can be captured and caged for a while, but it always manages to start wandering the empty corridors of my veins. Making want to tear open my skin and dig the creature out from my veins, make my body weep it out through a red water fall of blood onto the floor.

I should have never started this book. I don’t know what I’ve awakened.