Thursday, February 7, 2008

I am empty. I am skin and bones. I'm a ribcage.

"I'm glad to see you're gaining weight again."

She didn't mean anything by it. My hands shook as I reached for the door to my room. My mother's voice careened around my mind confirming every insecurity.


"She didn't mean anything by it." I slammed shut the door as if that would shut out the littany of self-loathing. I said the words aloud hoping that would banish her carelessly uttered demolition. "She didn't mean anything. You're too thin anyway." False convictions, I knew.

Who are you trying to fool? Look at yourself. You're disgusting. How could you let yourself get this way? You're...

I cranked the volume on the stereo; sound pounded my flesh. Collapsed on the bed I was content to let the music exorcise my demons. The beat pulsed, dragging me down to where my heartbeat moved blood. The bass hit my outsides, the blood hit the bass.

But it was never loud enough.

"I'm glad to see you're gaining weight again."

I threw my body to the side, twisting the covers around myself. I wanted them to be the magic shield they had been in childhood, to feel safe wrapped tightly in their folds.

I didn't.

My veins itched. I felt the tingle start in my arms and spread to encompass me. Under my skin a thousand spiders crawled and shuddered and stung.

Worthless. You mean nothing. Your own mother wants you dead. You're a burden. A hideous burden, at that. How much do you weigh? You don't deserve...

I reached for it, my cold avenger. Blindly I groped the bedstand, searching until I felt metal under my fingertips. I hesitated, stopped just shy of picking it up.

You're pathetic.

A fine shaking had begun in my limbs. I waited, letting the anticipation mount.

"I'm glad to see you're gaining weight..." it poked at me, prodded my imperfections.

And still the beat was pulsing against me, and the spiders crawled inside me, and the flesh itched and the veins ached and the blood moved...

And I bled. Looking down I was almost surprised to feel the droplets, warm and wet, staining my sheets and skin.


Turn the Paige.... said...

I'm sorry if that actually happened..I can relate to every bit of it...except instead of cutting I turn to some other form of self destruction :(

Many flies are wonderful writers...I think it must be a therapeutic outlet...but you are phenomenal!

Paige : )

Masquerade said...

Phenomenal hardly describes it. this is everything...all of it, the feeling. Such desperate words. Have I mentioned that you have inspired me to write again? Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow, I'll tell the story of what haunts me. :]