Tag Archives: despair

I Cut

04 Sunday Jun 2017

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I cut myself this morning.

I cut myself deep.

My skin starts to tingle.

And my demons start to creep.

I cut a little deeper.

And i kind of like the pain.

I stare into my bathroom mirror.

And i cut myself again.

My cutting tool of choice.

Is a sharp little pocket knife.

I cut because i am always afraid.

My knife is my one and only friend.

I will cut until the bitter end.

I cut myself one more time.

And a line of blood appears on my face.

I look into my mirror.

But i stare into space.

I cut a little deeper.

And hope that my memories will disappear.

My blood runs down my face.

And mingles with my tears.

I don’t usually cut my face.

But my life has become a living hell.

I had to deal with a lot of people.

And i don’t do that well.

I cut myself again.

With my trusty little blade.

And i watch my blood flow.

I love my fucking knife.

It gets me through my life.

I know that i am a huge failure.

I never do anything right.

I try my best but it is never good enough.

Why do i even get out of bed.?

Who is that person living in my head?

My favourite colour is blue.

So why do i like blood so much?

Just a little nick.

And i feel some pleasure.

A pleasure that cuts through the pain.

I  feel some sort of release.

Some well earned peace.

A few of my friends at work.

Asked me about the cuts on my face.

I told them that i got scratched by my neighbours cat.

They laughed ‘Was it a fucking tiger?’

I tried to laugh with them.

But i could barely manage a smile.

While beneath the table i fondle my trusty blade of steel.

Only my knife knows how i feel.

I cut for the first time when i was thirteen.

I thought i was just your normal schoolboy

But the other kids thought different.

And they let me know in no uncertain terms.

I was constantly on my guard.

With a belly full of worms.

I was called names had my hair pulled

And some of the other kids even spat on my face.

That is when i retreated into my mind.

And went to a better place.

So i bought myself a pocket knife.

And started to cut.

The best places to cut.

Was my inner arms and thighs.

I cut and cut with silent cries.

When i was fourteen.

I was brutalised so much at school i could barely

function.

I struggled home a broken little boy.

The other kids had taken all of my joy.

That night i ran myself .

To try to drown away my sorrows.

As i washed myself my eyes were drawn to my fathers razor

sitting on the edge of the tub.

I picked it up and gave it a tender rub.

The razor was a wilkerson sword of unknown vintage.

Old and rusty but sharp just the same.

As i held that razor.

I heard it calling my name.

One deep cut.

And all of my pain would be gone.

But o couldn’t do it.

I didn’t want my parents to find me in a bath full

of blood.

So i just gave myself a shallow cut.

And marvelled at the drops of red.

I smiled at the sight.

And toddled off to bed.

I cut because i feel like it.

I cut because i can.

I cut to free myself.

I cut to be a better man.

They say that the first cut is the deepest.

But my deepest cut is yet to come.

It might be tomorrow or the day after that.

But my deepest cut will be one day very soon.

Of that i can give you a guarantee.

So listen really well.

Because this is my final plea.

I CUT.

Thanks for taking the time to read one of my stories now if you have the means could you please make a donation so i can realize mt dream of becoming a fulltime writer. Thanks again Steven.

THE END.

Lowest At My Highest

04 Saturday Feb 2017

Posted by in Uncategorized

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I pick at a scab on my face until it bleeds

And my skin is a nasty shade of yellow

Most of my teeth have fallen out

The drugs are starting to take a heavy toll

 

I am constantly scratching.

And my clothes reek of urine and desperation

I would do anything for a shower.

And to fall asleep in a nice warm bed.

I cant remember the last time that i ate a home cooked meal.

But first i have to score.

 

But my pockets contain nothing but a few coins and a shitload

of lint.

All i can do is walk the streets and wait for an opportunity.

And i don’t have to wait long.

 

Just up ahead a lady is enjoying a coffee at an outdoor cafe.

I am about to ruin her day big time.

She has made a huge mistake.

She has left her handbag sitting on the chair beside her.

Just waiting to be snatched.

 

She sees me approaching.

And i act like an normal person just going about my day.

And the lady doesn’t see the threat and looks away.

Just then i run forward grab that bag and take off.

I am gone before she can even cry out.

 

I go to my spot beneath a bridge to count the takings.

A total of five hundred and twenty dollars.

Enough to keep me going for a while.

 

My local supplier is waiting for me with everything that i need.

A little something to keep the wolves at bay.

Another trip to my so called paradise.

As the drugs take over my body.

I feel myself flying as high as a kite.

But at the same time i am feeling mighty low.

I always feel the lowest at my highest.

Ashamed of all the crimes that i have committed just to feed my

addiction.

I hang my head in shame.

But i know that i will have to score again tomorrow.

 

My name is Owen and i am now 24 years old.

And i have been using drugs since i was thirteen.

My parents were constantly fighting hurling abuse at each other.

So i escaped to the local park

Where i smoked dope to calm my nerves.

And i drank beer to drown my sorrows.

 

Well dope and beer are still my companions.

But now ice is my drug of choice.

It takes me to another dimension another space in time.

When i take i live on the very edge of existence.

Like sliding down the edge of a knife.

That is my life.

That is Ice.

 

I know that because of my appearance that i stick out like a sore

thumb.

But at the same time i can be invisible.

People look at me with a mixture sadness and loathing.

To them i am just another harmless bum.

But i will strike like a cobra when i need to feed my gremlins.

 

And right now my gremlins are hungry.

Every minute of every day all i think about is buying drugs.

My muscles twitch and my pores release the night sweats.

I cant sleep at night because of the constant cravings.

Only the drugs can bring me some sort of relief.

 

The money that i stole is almost gone.

So i decide to visit my grand mother for a meal.

And maybe a loan that i will never re pay

Gran knows that i have a drug problem.

And she has tried to get me help again and again.

But i always tell her the same old bullshit ‘Don’t worry gran

i can stop anytime that i want’

I have told her that lie so many times.

That sometimes i even start to believe it.

 

When gran answers the door.

I cant help but notice the look that she gives me.

A mixture of love pity and hate.

But i don’t blame her at all i have let her down so many times

over the years.

 

We chat away about family and stuff.

But the conversation always turns to my addictions.

As gran talks i block her out.

I know that she means well.

But i don’t need a lecture right now.

All i need is some money to buy my drugs.

I have stolen from gran in the past.

And i will do it again today.

 

When gran visits the bathroom.

I sneak into her bedroom and rummage around looking for jewellery

and money.

When i find what i need i call out goodbye to gran and walk out the

door.

 

After visiting my supplier.

I go to my favourite spot under the bridge.

To satisfy my needs and wants.

As i fly above the clouds i cant help but to think about gran.

She deserves a better grand son than me.

All she wants to do is help but i keep pushing her away.

Again i am feeling the lowest at my highest.

This fucking Ice has really got a grip on me.

And it isn’t letting go anytime soon.

 

A few days later gran’s money is almost gone.

So i head off towards my last resort.

Back to the park that i first visited when i was thirteen.

In the back corner is the public toilets.

Where i give blow jobs for $50 a go.

God i am not even high but i am feeling mighty low.

 

I now have enough money to last me about a week.

I even buy some food and some clean clothes from the salvation

army.

Where i start talking to the girl behind the counter.

Her name is Melissa and she offers to help me in any way that she

can.

 

I thank her for the offer ‘But i don’t need any help’

‘I am just going through a bad patch’

 

Once again i lie to myself and to people who want to help.

 

About a week later i leave my spot under the bridge.

On my endless quest to find money and drugs.

I am thinking about my situation so i don’t hear a group of thugs

coming up behind me.

I remember getting king hit and laying on the ground being

repeatedly kicked and stomped on.

Thankfully i don’t remember anything after that.

 

I wake up in a hospital a few days later.

With a fractured skull  and eye socket.

A few broken ribs and i am bruised from head to toe.

 

I don’t get any visitors.

Everybody gave up on me years ago.

And as i lie in that bed my addiction is crying out for attention.

I need to get out of here and fast.

As i am looking around for my clothes and a way to escape.

A girl enters my room wearing my room wearing a salvation army

uniform.

 

It is Melissa the girl from op shop who is going from room to room

visiting the sick and the lonely.

She recognises me and tells me that her offer still stands

If i want help all i have to do is ask.

I tell her ‘Thanks but no thanks i will be fine’

 

All i can think about is Ice.

And how to get my hands on some.

I know that i need help but i need the drugs more.

I must have been hallucinating.

And to this day i don’t know why i said it.

But i looked at Melissa as she was walking out the door.

And i silently screamed one word HELP.

 

I spent the next six months in rehab.

Getting rid of my demons and addictions.

It wasn’t easy.

I almost walked out the door a thousand times

But i thought about my family and friends that i have let

down badly over the years.

Especially my gran who i love dearly.

 

I walked out of rehab clean and sober.

Ready to start my life all over again.

I will need to find myself a job and somewhere to stay.

But firstly i need to visit my gran and apologise and being such

a bad grand son.

 

But i have to make a small detour first.

I go to my favourite spot under the bridge.

And i start to dig.

About a foot down i uncover what i have buried there.

An old biscuit tin that contains my treasured items.

Amongst all my stuff is grans jewellery that i just couldn’t

bring myself to hock.

 

I hold that tin close to my chest and walk towards gran’s  house.

 

I knock on the front door.

Not knowing what to expect.

She opens the door and her eyes light up ‘Oh Owen i thought you

must of overdosed or something’.

I walk in and put the biscuit tin on the table.

And i tell gran to open it.

 

She is surprised  to see her jewellery inside “I thought i would

never see these again’

“They aren’t worth much but they mean the world to me’

 

I tell gran about my time in rehab.

And how i have been stealing from her for years.

She just smiles ” I know i have been waiting for you to clean yourself

up and be a good person again.”

‘Welcome back’

 

If you are having problems with drugs or alcohol.

GET HELP.

Thanks for taking the time to read one of my stories and now if you have the means could you please make a donation so i can reach my goal of becoming a fulltime writer. Thanks again Steven.