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What the fuck man.
"That one who's not Langa".
I always knew I wasn't the best. It's not like I thought of myself as the #1 skater ever, but there was this sense of pride. Like, when I was teaching Langa everything about skateboarding, I felt so happy. Finally there's someone who thinks that my passion is interesting. I could show off, share with him all my knowledge, and teach him, because he was genuinely interested in what I've got to say. Interested in me... For the first time in my entire life, I thought that someone actually cared about me, what the hell.
Now the student has overgrown his teacher. Now everyone notices HIM, wants to skate with and against HIM, and everyone who's in contact with me does that because of HIM. I don't matter.
Everyone, as in the best S skaters. They're all drawn to Langa, and I'm just a +1.
Your typical, average guy.
Just the redhead that's always attached to THE SNOW!
Why is everyone better than me?
Can't I have 1 thing for myself, without it being ruined?
My thoughts are on it again. I don't even notice as they're getting overwhelming. Each second they're growing more and more rapidly. I'm insulting myself even more each second.
I'm so mad.
This is mad what I'm thinking of right now.
At first, I was just picking my nails and the skin around them, making my fingers bleed a little.
Now I'm scratching my older scars. And I didn't even notice when my hand wandered through my pants just to feel the unsmooth, wounded skin of my thighs.
All I think of is how useless of a person I am, and how I can't ever be good at anything.
One of them opened.
There's blood...
I keep picking on the wound. It gets larger, my fingers are red. It's not enough.
I stand up from my bed - I think it's the 1st time today, and it's like 6 pm?
I rummage through my desk to find the razors I took out of pencil sharpeners a while back. I pulled my pants down and started at the older scars. The reddish-pinkish spots. The newly opened ones.
The free space that's almost non-existent.
I bring the razor to my thigh and quickly run it through my skin.
I hissed. I haven't cut in a while - like 3 weeks. I thought I was doing so well... And I didn't even hesitate.
I keep going. This razor was dulled down already, so I just made a few shallow cuts with it.
Annoyed at the broken piece of metal, I threw it into the trash can and started looking for another one.
Yeah, I felt some relief. I forgot why I cut in the first place; some stuff about being the worst person alive and shit like that, the usual. Who cares. Now there's blood, now I'm feeling real pain, not the bullshit that made me do this.
My breathing is fast, blood is dripping down my legs, which hurt as I stand looking for a different sharp object, because I'm not done.
I still hate myself.
I should suffer.
Nobody cares about me.
I'm pathetic.
I'm so stupid.
I hate myself.
I hate myself.
I hate myself.
I finally found another razor. The ones from sharpeners are tiny, it's so easy to lose them.
I don't think this one was used a lot; as I keep going, the cuts get deeper, I start to calm down, I feel more relieved.
I finally feel better. I run out of place free of cuts.
Honestly, do I feel better? I'm dizzy.
Why?
It's as if all my idiotic self-deprecating thoughts were trapped in my veins, and I just let them out that way. My blood system would explode if there were more of them. There's not enough place for both blood and the suicide juice in there.
When I'm done, I put my razor down, somewhere. I took tissues and brushed the blood from my legs. My family's home and no sleeping, I can't leave my room to the bathroom to do it more properly. I wet the tissue with bottled water and then started wiping the blood.
It's my favorite step. I mentioned earlier how I feel like the bad thoughts are escaping with blood, now it's time to really get rid of them. I wish it actually worked like this.
When I was sure that the bleeding stopped, I started looking at what I had just done. How many cuts are there, and how much blood. How I was supposed to do "just a little".
Why?
Why am I so stupid? For fucks sake, I was gonna stop... Fuck, it's way deeper than I thought it would be. Fuck, fuck, fuck, I fucked up.
I'm scared of myself, why is it so big? Oh god. I thought it wasn't that bad...
As I panic, I hear someone knocking on my door.
"Reki? Your mom let me in. You didn't reply to any of my texts, or pick up your phone the entire day..." What the hell is Langa doing in here? "I was worried about you. And your mom said you didn't even leave your room today."
I started crying. I'm so disappointed in myself, and he made me realize that. Langa entered my room, and saw me - I would rather have him see me with my pants down in a different context than this. With no blood included. I could tell that it scared him. That he's disgusted. He was holding back a real reaction - that of disgust, judgment, maybe even fear?
Even being scared of blood, he ran to me after shutting the door.
"What- what happened? How did- Did you do this? Why Reiki?" He had tears in his eyes. Great, I managed to break his heart too.
"I- I'm sorry... You shouldn't know about this..." he interrupted me.
"What? No! I should know. I'm here for you Reki. Whatever you go through. We need to clean this up, you're still bleeding." How heartless am I to let him see me like this?
"No- wait. my family can't know. I can't leave this room like that. If you get the first aid kit, they'd ask questions!" I started to panic.
Langa seemed to be thinking.
"I'll tell them you asked me to bring you ibuprofen for a headache, and I couldn't find it. You'll get an infection." He stood up and left, leaving no room to protest.
I didn't speak when he came back. He helped me clean it up. I got dressed back up and hugged him. "I'm so sorry you had to see me like this. Won't happen again."
"Don't say sorry. I'm here for you. Always call me. I love you." His hands around my body made me relax. Made me feel comfort. I smiled at this bittersweet feeling of my lover showimg compassion when I needed it the most, yet couldn't ask for it.
"I know that you don't- don't like blood and stuff, so I'm so sorry. I love you."
And after some time; "Why are you still here? Aren't you disgusted? Don't you think I'm stupid for doing that? You're not calling me an attention seeker. Why- why are you so kind about this?" I finally released the questions that kept my mind working overtime.
"It's not stupid or disgusting. I care for you, I'll never leave you. And if you were an attention seeker I'd know about this earlier than now." His words made me smile. His words always make me smile. "If you don't mind answering... can you tell me why are you doing this? You don't have to, obviously-" I interrupted him.
"It's okay. I honestly... don't even remember. I guess I do that to forget what's my head telling me. Because whatever I do, it never shuts up, just gets quieter, but the thoughts never leave, and I'm so done... I can't- I can't take it anymore. I scare myself with what I do and think."
Langa didn't judge. It's not like this situation didn't scare him, he just tried really, really, hard so that I can't tell. He was a sweetheart. Somehow, he knew exactly what to say to comfort me. I don't even know how he figured that out when he's introverted and not that talkative. I expected much more silence on his part. Eventually, calling me names and cutting (hahaha) me off.
He surprised me positively. I'm so grateful to have someone as good as him. I love him so much.
After that situation, it became a lot easier for both of us to talk about our feelings. He helped me, and I helped him. It took a bunch of ups and downs, and relapses I don't regret anymore, to get healthy. But life did eventually get better. I learned how to love myself, with Langa loving me every step of the way. I don't want to kill myself anymore. Of course, thoughts of doubt still creep up on me when I least expect them, but Langa is here to fight them off. I never want to leave him.