Precise

May trigger.

One minute, I'm flat on my face, sobbing and deep in despair.

The next, I'm tearing back up, my body like electric. My head spinning like it's trying to do a million things at once, like it's trying to keep up with my rocketing, plummeting moods.

I sit in the bathroom, slicing patterns into my skin. My arms will, for the rest of my life, be covered with scars. I clench my teeth, cut more, cut deeper. The pain is precise and the thoughts stop. My mind for one blessed moment is aware of only the pain, the pain stops the whirlwind of my mind. My heart beats steadily in my chest, as I imagine the blood pumping through my body, reaching my cuts, spilling over, and running down my arms.