Chapter Text
I'm fine.
Totally fine.
Nothing is wrong.
I'm fine.
"Again," Minho says. My head is spinning. I'm feeling light-headed.
The song starts againand my body starts moving on its own again. I'm close to passing out.
"Again," Minho sighs. He is just as tired as we all are. We've been practicing nonstop for the past two hours. Everything is aching but I can't stop, not until I finally get the choreo right.
"One last time then let's wrap it up" I hear Bang Chan say. His voice sounds distant. The lights are too bright and the music is too loud. I just want to go home.
"Okay let's stop practicing for today" Bang Chan announces.
You fucked up again.
Two hours of practice for nothing.
They would be better off without you.
My head starts spinning again. I stumble over to my backpack and sink to the floor. The moment I sit the voices are back. I can hear them clearly now.
You're useless.
Can't seem to get the choreo right after this much practice.
Pathetic.
You are pathetic.
"Jeongin!! Are you okay? You look pale and have been really quiet today" Felix asks. I snap back to reality. I can feel his eyes on me. The eyes that see through everything, even through my facade that I've kept up so well.
"I'm fine. Just feeling a bit light-headed," I lie. Well, technically it wasn't a complete lie. Felix just stares at me. He knows I'm lying.
"Hm okay. Be sure to get some rest back at the dorms okay?" He drops the subject after a few seconds of silence. I was close to spilling. Close to fucking everything up again.
It's way past midnight and I still can't fall asleep. Even though I'm tired and my body is sore my mind is too busy keeping me awake. I've been lying in bed for the past 2 hours staring at the ceiling. 2 hours of staring at the ceiling and trying to resist the urge. The urge to let my mind stop spinning. The satisfaction that comes from it. The feeling of numbness I've been craving. The urge to relapse.
You know you deserve it.
Just do it already.
Those are the phrases that keep repeating in my mind. I know where it is. I never threw it away. Maybe I should just give in? Maybe the voices are right. After fucking up this bad today I do deserve this. The voices are right.
Stop living in denial.
You know you deserve it.
You want this yourself, you psycho.
You just use me as an excuse to finally give in.
You never recovered and you know this.
Stop lying to yourself.
Whiny little brat.
The voices are right. I want this. I've been craving it for the past weeks. I know that it's wrong and I would break my promise but the satisfaction is worth it.
Omg just fucking do it already.
You know where the box is just take it out already.
You are such an ungrateful little brat.
Your life is perfect and you are still so ungrateful.
You have everything but you still can't give anything in return.
The only thing you do is fuck everything up.
Everybody would be better off without you and you know it too.
You are just a burden to everyone around you.
My body is moving on its own again. My arm reaches forward to my nightstand. I open it. My hand reaches to the far back of the drawer. I feel the little tin beneath my fingertips and take it out. The feeling of guilt overcomes me instantly. It's a small little tin that nobody would pay attention to unless they are specifically searching for it. A tin that holds horrifying memories and a hundred unspoken promises. A hundred unspoken promises that I'm about to break. The moment I realize what I'm doing the tin is already open. Even though it's dark in my room I see it clearly—the razor blade starring at me.
He is like an old friend. An old friend that is there for you every time it hurts. An old friend you would go to, to seek comfort. An old friend that makes you forget all of your worries for a short period. An old friend that is so familiar to you, that you keep coming back to wanting more. An old friend you could never forget about even if you wanted to. But you don't try to forget him and you know why? Because he is the only friend that never leaves your side. The only friend that always understands you. The only friend that doesn't ask you a thousand questions and comforts you immediately. The only friend that always gives you approval, the approval you need so desperately.
It's been far too long. The moment I take him out of the tin I know that this is it. I can't fight the urge anymore. Or more likely:
I don't want to fight the urge anymore.
I give up. I've been seeking comfort for so long and I end up here, again. Same spot six months later. Six months of being clean for nothing. Staring at the blade and knowing that we share so many memories makes me sick. I'm sick.
I want to feel the satisfaction that comes from hurting myself.
He's been waiting for you.
He knew you would come back.
And you know why?
Because you always do.
You never get better.
And you will never.
This is your destination.
Stop fighting.
Sooner or later you will still end up on the bathroom floor.
Alone. Crying. Blood dripping down your arm.
The old scars long forgotten.
New cuts on your arm.
Cuts that will scar.
Scars that hold bad memories.
Scars that never fade and haunt you till the end of your life.
The voice is right. It's telling the truth. I knew I would relapse and I still kept him hidden hoping that I would never seek his help again. If I wasn't so desperate to feel anything at all I would have slapped myself, maybe even thrown myself out of the window for thinking like this and listening to the voice but I don't because I'm way too desperate. I give in and make my way to the bathroom. I don't even remember the walk because the next time I open my eyes I'm already in front of the bathroom. I open the door. My body is moving on its own. My head is spinning. Nothing feels real anymore. Maybe this is all just a bad dream. This can't be reality, right? Maybe I will wake up and everything is going to be fine. Everything is fine, isn't it? There are a thousand things on my mind but I only can think about one thing.
Relapsing.
I need to hear approval. Approval from my inner voices. I need to feel the satisfaction. The satisfaction that comes from hurting myself. The numbness. The numbness that makes me forget everything for just a moment. I just want to feel anything at all. Anything that isn't loneliness and the feeling of being a failure. The feeling of being a burden to everybody around you. I just want to feel normal again, please.
Maybe this is normal and I'm just the problem? Everybody struggles with something right? I'm fine, totally fine.
I told you that you wouldn't be able to keep your promise.
It's fine to do this.
You're fine.
Totally fine.
Those are the last words I hear before I press the razor blade to my skin. I'm fucked but who cares? I certainly don't. I'm calm maybe even at peace but not satisfied, not yet.
Look at you pressing the blade to your skin like your life depends on it.
You are doing such a great job.
One cut isn't enough.
Continue.
It's what you wanted right?
You can't stop just now, not yet.
I quickly lock the door and instantly sink to the floor. I press the blade against my arm a second time. I watch as the little droplets of blood are forming. I cut again and again.
Yes just like that.
You are doing well.
So well.
I feel the familiar numbness. The familiar feeling of being at ease. My head isn't spinning anymore. These feelings are all too familiar. Tears start running down my face. I didn't realize that I was crying.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Blood starts dripping on the floor. I hadn't realized that the cuts started going deeper. I'm sobbing and my vision is getting blurry. I want to stop crying at my own patheticness but I can't. Here I'm on the bathroom floor sobbing. I press a towel to my mouth to muffle my sobs. Blood is still dripping down my arm. It's a lot of blood.
Just one more, please.
One last time.
The voice is quieter than before. My head is spinning and my vision is still blurry. I take the razor blade one last time and press it to my arm with full force. I whince at the sharp pain that rushes through my body. More tears start streaming down my face. The cut doesn't draw blood instantly. It takes a few seconds before it turns from orange to white to red. Fuck this is really deep but who cares because:
The voice is quiet.
It's finally quiet.
I come back to reality almost instantly. I was wrong this is not a bad dream. The pain overtakes the numbness I felt before. My collectedness is gone. The peace is gone. And then it hit me:
I relapsed.
My arm is throbbing and there is blood on my hand. On the floor. On the blade. Everywhere. This is certainly a lot of blood. My vision is getting a bit clearer even though it feels like my head is about to explode. I rise slowly while pressing the towel to my arm. The towel is soaked with my tears and I can feel the moisture hitting my scars. It's disgusting.
I lean over the sink and remove the towel. The towel has turned red, dark red. I start panicking because no matter how bad it was before I have never cut this deep before. When did it all get this bad? It's just the same as always:
Because you never realize how bad it's getting until you hit rock bottom. Once you hit rock bottom you are trapped in a spiral. A spiral that seems to have no end to it.
There are moments where you think you've made it out but you are just falling back without realizing it.
I'm trapped in this spiral and I can't get out of it. At least not alone.
My arm looks bad. On the smaller cuts, there is dried blood while the new and deep ones are still bleeding. The blood is dropping down the sink. I need to hold myself steady because my vision is getting blurry again.
I did really fuck up.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I'm so stupid. I press the towel to the fresh cuts again but the blood just keeps flowing. Why isn't the bleeding stoping? This can't be happening right now. I feel myself starting to hyperventilate. Tears start streaming down my face again and I'm sobbing but this time I'm not covering my sobs. As I hit the wall behind me, I feel even more panic rising. My sobs keep on getting louder. Fuck it's just a matter of time till somebody finds me or atleast what's left of me. My whole body is shaking and I can't seem to catch my breath. Suddenly I feel my legs give out. As I start sinking to the ground my vision starts going grey.
No this can't be happening right now.
Why can't I control it?
This can't be it, right?
My head is really going to explode this time. To say that there are a thousand things on my mind wouldn't even come close to the number of things I'm thinking of right now. The only thought I can make out clearly is:
DEATH
I'm not going to die, am I? Please not I'm not ready yet. Please.
It's almost as if somebody has heard my prayers because my breathing seems to go back to normal. Even though I'm still crying I slowly get my vision back. Everything is still blurry but my mind seems to calm down. I finally seem to have control over my body again. I start distracting myself from the immense pain I feel by focusing on my breathing. I can feel the adrenaline leave my body and my body isn't shaking anymore. As my common sense comes back I rise to get to the sink to clean this mess up as fast as I can. My legs are still wobbling so the sink has to hold me steady. I take a look at my arm and all of the scars have stopped bleeding but I must have lost the towel somewhere while I was hyperventilating because there is a lot of dried blood around some scars. I wait for a few more moments till I'm steady enough to stand on my feet without leaning onto the sink. The cabinet that holds the tissues and the first aid kid has mirror doors and even though I know that looking at my reflection right now may not be the smartest thing I've ever done it is certainly not the worst thing I've ever done. The worst thing I've ever done is listening to the voices and giving in every single time because hurting myself seems to be the most effective coping mechanism. I still look in the mirror even though I know that seeing myself right now will keep me a few nights awake. If someone told me I would be looking like this on a random Saturday night I would have laughed but here I am. My face is puffy and my eyes are red. I must have bitten my lip too hard while cutting myself because my lip is swollen and has some blood on it. I open the cabinet because I can't keep looking at my reflection. I can't stand it.
My eyes search the cabinet for tissues and as soon as I see them my arm reaches forward. I take the tissues and walk back to the sink. The sink is stained with dark red droplets. It looks like somebody has spilled paint but it's my blood. Before I can get lost in my thoughts I wet the tissue and start cleaning my arm. The water is still running and I can see the red droplets disappearing into the drain like they have never existed. My arm is stinging but the dried blood is washing off. I will just throw the tissues away later. The tissues are also covered in blood. I reach over to the first aid kid and open it. The band aids and the disinfecting spray are still there so I just take them out and take the cap of the spray bottle off. As soon as the spray hits the cuts I draw in a breath. The deeper scars sting way more than expected but nevertheless I feel kinda proud.
I'm proud because I'm actually capable of doing something right.
This may seem wrong but at least somebody is proud of me.
As long as the voices are satisfied I'm as well.
The stinging has stopped and I start wrapping the bandage around my arm half-heartedly. Now that I have more or less cleaned up myself I need to hide the traces. The floor looks like a crime scene except that I'm not only the victim but also the culprit. I take out a wet wipe and start removing the blood stains from the floor. The amount of blood stains makes me sick to my stomach. Once I've removed them all I get up again to see if I missed anything. Now that I've cleaned off the floor I need to get rid of him. He is lying in the corner still showing traces of what happened a few minutes ago. I pick him up. This time it's not only the feeling of guilt that overcomes me but mostly shame. I'm ashamed of the fact that I relapsed and that I came back to him. My mind can't seem to settle on one emotion because in between disgust and shame, I can feel traces of pride and satisfaction.
At this point, I don't even need to question if I'm fine because I am. I am fine in my own way.
Even though everything hurts I'm still proud of myself. Even though the voices keep telling me bad things I just believe them and come back. I'm aware that this is not the best way of dealing with myself. This is why I wrap him in a tissue and walk over to the trash can. The moment I throw him away I feel stressed. It feels like I'm betraying an old friend. An old friend who doesn't deserve to be hurt no matter what he did. In the back of my mind, I still hope that I will never see him again.
I won't ever see him again.
Right?
I won't come back another time, right?
I won't end up here again, right?
The more I think about everything the more anxious I get. I will just clean up and get some sleep because this is all way too much for my brain to comprehend at this late hour. Now the last task is to get rid of the towel and the tissues. I fold the towel over and put it in the laundry. I will wash the laundry tomorrow so nobody notices. I get out another tissue and press the bloody tissues in the clean one. I think for a second and take out another tissue. Now that I've wrapped the tissues I throw them away.
This is it, I've cleaned up everything and a familiar feeling comes back.
The feeling of emptiness.
I always feel empty but this feeling of emptiness is different. The emptiness that normally haunts me is the feeling of never feeling complete. Day after day I keep trying to feel complete but I never do and the most frustrating part is that I don't know what will make me ever feel complete. I feel like I'm a puzzle searching for the last puzzle piece except that there are no more puzzle pieces left for me. This feeling haunts me daily but the emptiness I'm feeling right now is different, very different. There are a thousand things that happened and at least a million things on my mind but I can't seem to think of anything right now.
There is nothing on my mind because my mind is blank.
All the thousand feelings and thoughts I had today have vanished.
I recognize this feeling. It's one of the best feelings you can ever feel. It's a similar feeling to the numbness you get from hurting yourself except that this is even better. The numbness just stops your head from spinning for a short time but this feeling is better. The emptiness lets you forget everything. It's almost as if u are high because your body is doing everything on its own while your head is in the clouds. Your head feels like a canvas. A canvas that needs paint to tell a story but remains empty. The emptiness is what I crave. It's what I desire. If I think about it I can say that I'm addicted to it. I'm like a junky that needs drugs to be okay except that hurting myself is my drug. The comparison may seem harsh but the junky and I follow the same goal. The goal of getting the feeling we all love so much. The feeling that makes you forget reality. The feeling that makes you addicted.
The emptiness that makes you feel like you are in the clouds even though you just hit rock bottom.
It's my high.
I get high from hurting myself.