*Note, the following post includes descriptions of self harm.
The pressure of the scissors relieves the inner turmoil, the blood makes a hypnotic pattern down my arm. Never deep enough to scar physically, always deep enough to scar emotionally.
The inner turmoil and worry creeps into my mind again, the voice whispers how useless I am. The tools I’ve worked so hard to learn, the effort I’ve made to “find my center, find my calm”, they’ve all been put to the test.
I have been put to the test again and again. Like a sand castle resisting the pressure of the tide I begin to crumble.
I look at the world and can’t help but see the school kids stuck at home with abusive caregivers, the children who have nothing to eat because their caregivers can’t afford food and they can’t get fed at school. The individuals being told they cannot spend time with loved ones who are dying. The individuals whose livelihood depends on making sales, on having folks walking into a store, what will happen to them all? How can we expect to recover from this?
The suffering is too great, the empathy too aware, how do I turn this off? I can’t resist any longer. The pressure builds, the sandcastle gives way, a rush of water recedes and what is left?
The pressure of the scissors, the hypnotic pattern of the blood. The immense guilt that I fell again. Day forty five clean from self harm becomes day zero. Tomorrow the tally marks begin again.
Day one free from self harm. I blame the quarantine.
—Moonlight Joy