Underdogs and Tidal Waves

Southside of Mellow
2003-06-09 00:31:58 (UTC)

Catharsis and taint

June 8, 2003
Sunday 7:44 PM

I hurt myself today.
Almost an hour ago.
Again, the same thing to fuel the anger.
The same thing to push me to the edge.
The same person, the same abuse, the same words, the same
degrading words, the same nothingness.
The same thoughts the that brink me to death.
Almost enough to push me to the edge.

I sat in my room and closed the door.
I pulled out the little case of metal.
Pulled out the same little pair of metal scissors.
And started to push the end of the metal into my skin.
I punctered the skin.
Only to make a scratch.
I pushed harder.
The end was dulled.
I silently crept into the bathroom and locked the door
behind me.
I slowly opened the drawer and pulled out the razor.
I held it to my skin.
I held back and in my head, I thought about stopping
and putting down the razor.
I put down the razor for awhile.
Then I started ripping it apart.
Tearing the plastic top above the metal, to expose the
gray silver.
I tore it out and bent it, making an arch in the metal.
I took the blade to my arm.
Pressing it deeper into the skin, feeling barely anything.
A tiny trail of red droplets started to form.
I lifted the blade and the blood surfaced.

I sat there starring at my arm.
Starring at the torn red skin.
At the small trail of blood on my arm.
This was the first time in a long time, I have bled.
I sat there, thinking about what pushed me to do this.
What brought me to this point.
The thoughts of "Why?" racked my head.
And in response, the reasons shot through my brain.
I knew why.
I knew what pushed me to do this.
I starred at the wound and I starred at the blade.

I became numb.
It didn't even feel it.
I didn't hurt.
Strangely, those thoughts of hatred and malice were gone.
In some strange way, I was once again calm and composed.
I was no longer scared that when I came downstairs I
could possibly get hit.
It didn't matter to me then.
I just let it go.

I sat there in somewhat of an awe, that I possessed the
power to possibly take my life whenever I pleased.
It felt like cutting for the first time.
Somewhat of a strange numb catharsis.
And strangely, I feel fine.

Tomorrow is the class trip to Ceder Point.
Yesterday I was angry because I thought about how they
would just stand around and shit in their pants over the
big rides that they were afraid of.
I am reluctant of going.
I thought of leaving and going off by myself just to hurt
them out of my own anger.
I'm sick of following what they have to say.
I can't wait til I'm completely free of all of this.
I could care less if I ever saw them again.


Well, I'm on the verge of a good poem.
Almost a narrative poem. I'll work on it tomorrow on the
bus.

On Thursday, I flunked my science final and went on a spew
of bottled up emotions that I had been holding in for so
long. Of course, I was over-looked like everyone else in
my class, because that was just it. We were in the
second-rate class. Yes, most of us are stupid idiots but
the few kids had talent and deserved some of those awards
but instead they fed us with the same old bullshit of the
second-standard mandatory papers that everyone got just
to make them feel better. The way they play their
favoritism disgusts me.
I felt betrayed and worthless.
All I held in my hands were second-standard pieces of
meaningless paper, that another tree died for in vain.
Out of anger, I just started tearing it up.
I got yelled at and told that I was nothing cause I was a
rebel and I was nothing but a stupid bitch and that I was
never going to go anywhere in life.
I cried myself to sleep that night.
Drowned out everything and held it all back in until
today. I thought about just feeling disgusted to be in
their presence once more tomorrow, where they'd brag
about their little pieces of "special" paper that they
earned out of favoritism and because of where their
precious reputations stood. I felt disgusted of it all.
And I thought, why should I be killing myself over them,
they're just spoiled, stuck-up, preppie brats anyway.

And it struck me, hell maybe I was like them, except I
didn't believe in the same values they carried and lived
by. I didn't live by their philosophy and I don't plan on
doing so. Does this make me feel any better? No, not at
all but, it kinda helps me get over it and it's something
to voice out. I don't need their sheets of paper
validating that I'm worth their standards. I thought about
my cousin and what I learned from him, almost in a
protegee/grasshopper to mentor/master, kind of way.
And I knew that I didn't have to impress any of these
people and their stupid standards.
I knew I just had to live for myself.


Lately my life has consisted of Nirvana, rain, gray,
color-splotched screens, Nine inch nails, dark poetry,
mindless idiots, my own stupidity and ignorance,
the everyday same degrading routine, and very minimal
skateboarding.









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