Insecurities(prose)

She feels the heat rising inside her as she loses control once again. Her mind swirling with insecurities, heart racing. How can she ignore the calling, the need? How can she ignore the urge?

Distraction. A funny thing when it comes down to a game of twenty questions possibly saving a life. Her heart still races her mind still spins but she can feel herself calming, oh so slowly. What will she do when it's the middle of the night and there's no chat room available to save her from her nightmare?

Cannot think about that now. Focus on the game. Push away the pain. The pain that grips her throat like a never-ending nightmare. The sob stuck in the back of the esophagus clawing its way out. Aged scars pleading to be reopened.

The blade bites cold against her skin. Blood flows quickly, ridding her of insecurities, ridding her of sin. More. She needs more. More blood. More pain as reality lessens and lessens. The one time she doesn't have to face the truth. Only calm, pure calm.

The only thoughts that run through her head consist of;
-I need to do my own laundry this week, to wash out the blood, that cut is pretty deep I better wrap it up, I wonder how long it will take to heal, will I get out of this addiction alive?-

She sets down the blade and rests her head on the cold wooden floor. She falls asleep slowly and dreams of blood, razor blades, and physical pain. The comfortable things.