Lay to Rest

[9meow]

TW

Writing about it so I don’t do it, I’m fine

You’re lying in bed. The hold these thoughts have over your mind, consistent. Some nights the grip is stronger than others. As if it doesn’t matter what’s happened over the past few hours, days, weeks. What you’ve accomplished, where you failed, where you didn’t even bother. The things you forgot. They grip you. Your mind first, and then your body; the thoughts turn into a ball of foam and it rolls, escaping your brain through that special passageway. The ball rolls into your nasal cavity and passes it, behind the bone, over the palate. Soon it’s in your mouth, where it decides to slide further and settle in the deepest part of your throat. This is where the ball expands. It crushes you from the inside, soaking up the fluid from your saliva and expanding, sending out a signal back through that passageway, back to your brain. You brain understands, and you start hearing it— it’s a double killer, so you can’t think of anything else. The television static begins bouncing off the walls of your skull, as commanded, back and forth, excruciatingly loud, painful; the signal has made the ball of thoughts transform into one. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. It would be easy. You’ll feel better. “Do it.” The only thing you can hear over the static. Your arms itch, but you can’t scratch. If you scratch you’ll scratch too hard and you’ll want to do it even more. The wet, heavy foam has grown lengthy, thick, suffocating tendrils and they reach into your chest. You feel the dull, full pangs now, and there’s no escape because they’ve taken over every empty space in your body like violation. The thin skin of your wrists burns an icy, unbearable fire. You start to scratch your right arm, lightly. It’s too itchy. Your fingernails scrape over the textured surface, the unorganized mess of scar tissue on top of scar tissue. The other arm is neater. This right arm will never be smooth again, though you resisted touching it for thirteen years. But you were weak, and right now that’s fine with you. You want more. It would be EASY. You roll over and reach for the headphones on your nightstand. Music is good for distraction.You see the white scars on your left arm as you do so. The ball throbs. The protrusions throb. No escape, mind and then body.

Reasons to do it:
-It would be easy
-You’ll feel better
-You’ll feel alive
-It feels good
-You have some space to fill up
-You’re going to do it soon anyway
-If you do it now you can get back on track sooner
-It’s satisfying
-You can see the blood and fat
-You can admire it
-You can be normal again until next time
-Risk of death

Reasons not to do it:
-Have to stitch them yourself
-Cleanup
-Can’t play guitar
-You’ll be cold, shaky, and out of it
-It will be harder to sleep
-It’s hot in long sleeves
-You’ll have to hide them until they close
-You’ll have to wait for them to start scarring
-The scars will be red for a long time before they turn white
-You’ll have to cover them even if they are white
-Hard to use arms because they’ll tear and open up again easily
-If you can’t move your arms daily life is hard
-When they open up it’ll ruin your clothes and you’ll need to do laundry
-You don’t have as much control as you think you do
-If you go too deep like that one time you know you won’t call an ambulance 
-Risk of infection
-Risk of death

So fucking weird
As I was writing this my headphones were interrupted with something mid song
From “Like a Stone” to “My Sacrifice”
and the interruption was static from ear to ear for six seconds…