Release

Smile it makes the people happy.

Claiming to be intoxicated by me.

Ha fools.

"Slut" dripping from my curves.

Words seep into my mind,

Cover me up with shit.

Curled 'round just the tips.

Pace quickens to a jog,

Run, RUN!

Running,

Sweat dripping from my jawline.

Seek refuge in my naked bathroom.

Fetal in my presence.

I want that hit.

The cold steel slides into my abounding flesh.

Lights dim.

Breathe stops.

Release.

This is a remake of a poem I wrote when I was 14 or 15 years old. I started cutting at 11 years old. I used a bent tack from a poster off my wall for the first, superficial scratch on my forearm, luckily, no one noticed. I began self-mutilation at about 8 years old. The first scratch opened up the floodgates. Cutting became my first addiction. I started buying packs of brand-new blades. I put one in my purse so I would have it at all times. Mostly I would wait till school was out and I was safe, at home before sliding that cold steel into my flesh but there were times when the urge was far too great and I would steal away to a stall of the always-filthy girls bathroom of my school and crouch down to slice perfect little cuts into my wrists, thighs, ankles, etc. The circumstances that led to this form of "therapy" are irrelevant at this point, the pain I felt and continue to feel, is still very real and very apparent. There is no undoing the past, however, if one is strong enough, one can create a better, more positive, fulfilling present and future for themselves. My family didn't really notice. I have found that family isn't necessarily always blood, family is made up of the people you befriend. My family comprises of criminals, business owners, the poor, the wealthy, the lost, the found. Responsible, contributing members of society, and the supposed "dregs" of the earth. My sperm donor kicked me out at 13 years old for attempting suicide, I found my "family" in the 20 something year old man that I used to buy weed from and his dad. His father who was about 40, immediately took me in, without hesitation. He made a room for me, complete with industrial locks, new carpet, and fresh paint. I did my best to keep my space clean. The rest of the house wasn't so neat and tidy, so I wore house-shoes every time I stepped outside of my tiny little room. I had at least 2 meals a day and at times, my surrogate dad, would even come home with some winnings from the casino and would take me out to buy new school clothes so I would continue my education. I attended a continuation school since I had dropped out of high-school after only 50 days of attendance. While attending this continuation school, I managed to not only catch up with all the missed credits I had accumulated, but had also managed to maintain a 4.0-grade point average which led to my being awarded an "Academic Achievement" award from our then-state governor, Grey Davis. I decided that school was essentially a waste of time for me. I suffer from extreme social anxiety and though academia came easy, socialization did not. I did some research and found that there was a high-school equivalency to a diploma test that I could take, the CHSPE. CHSPE stands for California High-School Equivalency Proficiency Exit Exam. It cost me a little money, but I saved the $160 necessary to take the test. At 16 I went into the office of education, sat down for the 4 hour test, completed it in about 2 hours, and walked out. About a week or so later, I received confirmation that I had passed the test and no longer was obligated to attend high-school. I guess my point is, no matter how much trauma, abuse, neglect, you experience, you can still create a happy, healthy, positive future. So try not to allow your past to make you hardened to the good in life, because you can always find a silver lining.