Holy Bones

Legs of crimson, blood running down defined hips and knobby knees – such is the life of someone who self harms; such is the life of a child who cuts. I was one of these tortured few, one who befriended the knife over conquering her own mind, and I loved the blade more than any other. What need did I have for a lover, when I could take to the painful edge instead? What empty hole needed filled that I could not fill with apathy and red? I was 15 when I started self harming to feel that darkness lit. Nails in skin, tearing crescents into my palms and shoulders – this was my nearly every day habit. No one noticed, no one commented, and not once did anyone care. Then began the cutting. Strict, harsh, clean lines across my shins – my knives cut deeper along the bones – never so deep to scar; yet, the scars came later anyway. Sometimes I would cut along the hips, the thighs, or my arms and shoulders, but nowhere felt as intense as the shins along the bones – bones barely contained by taut, white skin. I barely ate those days, and my bones seemed as if they were trying to escape me. In those days, I would’ve tried to escape what was happening too. How must my poor bones have felt being used as tools of war – a war on my very psyche, and the defilement of the physical temple. Oh bones, how I wish I could apologize for what I have done – but apologies mean nothing to a skeleton. I should pray to whatever deity resides in this temple and beg for forgiveness, but I have no belief in the godliness of these calcium structures bound by flesh. If there was faith to be had, I suppose it would be a faith to understanding. I understand now why I hurt myself so, and I understand how blood runs and flows. We learn through mistakes, we learn through sweat, blood, and tears, and as someone who knows intimately all those aforementioned, please know that understanding of yourself comes at a price. It takes time and pain to learn to believe in your own holiness and preciousness, but beware an edge that promises to bleed you in return for understanding of your own darkness. It’s a corrupted thing, the way the mind turns to blood – but listen to that feeling in your bones when they say it’s time to stop.