The Scar
November 8th, 2009 | 
Author: The ugly truth had revealed itself in front of him. She had hopped to avoid it that day, but fate had turned it’s back on her. The rage she saw in her eyes scared her, scared her in a way she had never been scared of him before. She was sure she knew what was coming, if not now, sometime, and that hurt her, destroyed her more than being a disappointment and failure in his eyes.
She knew to leave him alone, at least while the rage boiled in his veins, even when it cooled to a simmer, it would do her no good. When he got to the point of being able to talk to her without the rage, there would be a lecture and she knew the best way to weather that storm was to just shut up and let him go. Whatever she said in explanation or defense wouldn’t matter, and would only serve to reignite the rage.
She wanted to disappear. She wanted to just stop being, crawl into a hole, or just no longer be. Doing that would leave her kids in an awful place and that’s what kept her from going too far.
The familiar urge was there. Her friend of long ago. The one who offered answers. She didn’t have to disappear, she just needed to hurt and punish herself for being so stupid and irresponsible. She needed a way to lash out at the person she was pissed off at. That person was her.
She found herself walking upstairs to the bathroom. She knew what she was looking for. If it wasn’t there, she knew where there were more. But as luck would have it, it was there in the basket.
Looking at her arms she noticed luck had smiled on her yet again. There were scratches on her arm already from the work she had done that morning. Easy enough to explain the cuts she would inflict now.
She put the knife to her arm and began to cut. Not deep enough to do real damage, but surly deep enough to bleed. She watched the blood rise to the top and then slowly run down her arm. She was actually surprised at how little it hurt to cut that deep, and the relief she felt at the sight of her own blood. Two cuts weren’t enough to make her feel better, but she knew any more would be impossible to hide or explain.
She cleaned the cuts with alcohol wipes welcoming the sting from that too. When the scabs form she will pick them being sure a scar is left behind. To join the others she had.
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I found you through a Amelia Sprout, through ICLW. I don’t know if this is a story or personal experience, (hoping for a story…) but either way, I understand. I have a long personal post up at my own blog about this very subject today, as a matter of fact. I just thought it was an interesting day to find this post, and wanted to say something.
[Respond]
Becky Reply:
November 22nd, 2009 at 4:28 pm
@Jennifer,
I wrote it that way in hopes I could hide behind it, have deniability. I hadn’t done it in sooo long and then, something happened, and the urge was overwhelming. A change in medications yet again, and we’ll see.
I’m glad you found this. Well, you know what I mean.
[Respond]
I do know what you mean. I’ve been skimming around your site since writing that comment… and have bookmarked you. I don’t have BPD myself, but do battle depression, and am waiting on a med change hopefully tomorrow, and have been battling the urge this weekend too. I’m sorry things have gotten to this point for you again. I hope you can find your way back up. I know how much it sucks to be at this point.
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