It all started with a fight. My girlfriend before wanted to go to a party but she wanted to go alone. Most parties in our school were wild. People making out, doing drugs, vomiting and fighting until dawn. What really bothered me was that she wanted to go without me. Being a true paranoid, I assumed that she wanted to go alone so she could make out or hook up with other guys in the party. We had a huge fight then everything was settled, she's not going anymore. Although settled, we were still mad at each other.
Three hours after our fight, she went home to her house for the weekend and I was all alone in my apartment with our cat. The loneliness did not help. My paranoia kept on making me think about terrible things. I imagined her making out with other guys. I imagined her grinding on some fuckboy's lap. All the good memories I had with her were reduced to ash coming from the a post-coital cigarette she and her guy shared. She was no longer L***(her name). She became a carnal object to the party goers.
Everything was terrible but none of the things I imagined didn't happen. It was all in my mind and it was my first time to experience such overwhelming paranoia. I tried to distract myself by smoking cigarettes; It didn't work. I tried drinking gin; It also didn't work. Something just popped into my head: I should harm myself. "Why?", I asked myself. "It's your punishment," says the voice. I was too drunk and too high on the nicotine to notice that I was actually talking to myself. "It's your punishment, do it". I came to realize that the voice was right, I should punish myself. I failed as a lover to give her what she wanted. And she wanted everything.
I grabbed a rusty scalpel blade from my drawer full of medical supplies. I stared at the edge of the blade as if it was my first time seeing one. After almost five minutes of staring at the blade, I was ready. I sank the point of the blade to my left forearm. With a quick pull from the rusty blade came a thin streak of red. I did it. I actually harmed my own body deliberately. For some people, the sight of blood makes them weak. For me, I lusted for the imagery of pain; It felt wonderful. A few inches from the first cut, I made another, and another, and another one until my entire forearm was completely red. Not much blood came out but my forearm looked like it was mangled by cats. I could feel my forearm pulsing from the inflammation made by the slashes. It was painful. Excruciating, but I loved it. Perhaps the best explanation I could give is that it was like smoking. Smoking leaves a very bitter taste in the mouth but it is euphoric. Slashing also worked the same way, it left painful streaks on my forearm but I couldn't stop. It was like eating a bowl of nuts, I just couldn't settle for just one slash.
After an hour of slashing, I was finally contented. My entire left forearm was completely red and I no longer had tears to shed. I grabbed a bottle of rubbing alcohol and swished its contents onto my forearm. The burning sensation was almost orgasmic. I laughed with tears in my eyes as I rubbed my wounds. I became a totally different entity for that time until our cat came at me. The cat's big round pupils stared at my obscenity. I stopped and cried once more as I returned to consciousness.
I hurt myself too much.
(End of Part 1)
