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Simon Henriksson. the 19 year old man who still lived with his mother. Some his age or even older would say that would be a negative thing, to be at such an age and still live under your parents roof instead of trying to start piecing your life together one by one and putting some purpose into your adult life.. But not Simon no.
if it weren't for his mother, he wouldn't be here today. but even then, the man didn't want that for himself. Beng so isolated does a number of things to you and your mind over time. loneliness messes with your mind and will only send you spiraling into looking for people. to talk to, to acknowledge you, to relate and understand you and to just like you.
being so utterly desperate for something can also do things to your mind and make you do crazy things that no sane person would normally imagine of doing to themselves or others. you wouldn't think someone would resort to hurting themselves for some recognition, huh? but it's the sad reality of what lengths people might take to numb their minds from their thoughts in search of something they long for. and sadly enough it was a rabbit hole Simon himself had fallen into.
and this leeds him to his current situation. Simon was sat on the edge of the bathrooms bathtub, he was dressed in more casual and comfortable clothes, just a simple grey-ish T-shirt that had some band plastered on the front of it and just some simple black sweat pants, seeming it was in fact late out and nobody would be present to see his bodily mutations. And within his hands he held a packet of shaving razors, ones he had bought not too long ago that he had managed to lose within the mess of his desk drawers and only retrieved earlier that day. for the day, the stared at him, pushed themselves deeper into Simon's mind and whispered to him, calling him to tear open their packet and merely just hold them, to remind him of what he's done to himself and continues to do to himself.
Simon felt blank as he stared at the packaging, some PNG of a razor blade that read the words "Glides easily! simple attachment!" along the cardboard. he flipped it around in his hands fona moment, inspecting each side of the blue box before letting it rest within his hands. He's been doing this a long time now. long enough had his own metal blades he used to cut himself with. narly a year now to be precise. And to be honest.. he doesn't remember why or when he started.
it's a cycle for everyone. at some stage when you start cutting you start with a purpose, maybe your mad at yourself, your upset or you like the pain and it takes your mind off of your stress and current issues. but soon, it simply becomes the norm. you wake up, do whatever an soon, when you feel like it you cut. sure you can have your reasons, Infact most of the time Simon himself cuts away that lingering numbness that he longed to try and chase away. but soon it just becomes.. you know, an addiction.
usually, addictions like this start off small and maybe even unrecognisable. you might start scratching at your your body when your upset, stressed or mad, but those habbits begin to evolve. once you find comfort in scratching away at yourself you begin to feel you need more. scratching isn't enough so they go from peeling loose skin to using pencil sharpeners. and it's a matter of time before you'd find yourself hacking away at your body with a butchers knife, because nothing will ever be deep enough to your own standards.
After what felt like decades of mindless staring, Simon finally decided to begin ripping open the packaging, tearing off the plastic seal before pulling open the small cardboard box. he gently squeezed two fingers inside, slowly pulling out a thin, shiny blade. completely brand new and unused.. he inspected it between his index and thumb, the dim bathroom light above him shining against the blade just showing off how clean it was. gently Simon had placed the rest of the blades on the corner of his sink as his attention was now keyed onto this single blade z dragging it up his thumb.
he hadn't a thought though his head at the moment, everything was completely blank as he was only fixed onto this single piece of what felt like flimsy metal.. usually the ones he used were thicker, didn't feel like some sheet of paper and were not easy to bend. he honestly felt disappointed in a away that this flimsy price of tin wouldn't do half as much damage in a way.. that was until the had lightly dragged the blade to the side, and to put it simply the blade practically cut him like butter. of course it was only like a small paper scratch seeming he was only lightly easing it again his thumb.. but god damn this thing was sharp for something he was barley pushing against in anyway.
taking ahold of the blade more steadily, he pressed the tip against the upper side of his wrists. it simply felt like a small pin prick as he began to dig it in, and with a quick slice, blood was drawn. a decently sized cut was made. it was around the same-ish as a cat scratch but in a sense it was slightly deeper and longer and it was already beading with blood, droplets seeping out of his cut. that was only a test and already he was feeling much more hopeful about this blade. moving it to a different point on his arm, he did in the corner of the blade once again, repeating his actions to and getting the same as before. jerking the blade back, the same happened and blood began to bead out and slip off his arm stain the white bathtub.
he held his arm out watching as the droplets of blood slip off of his body and splat on the white surface, momentarily entranced by his own blood splattering against the tub. its not a sight he was unfamiliar with, hes had to scrub this same bathroom more times that he could count on his fingers from bad days hes had since he dreaded the thought of his mother ever stumbling upon the gore of his own self destruction. so watching his blood drip out of him like this was practically child's play.
once he'd finally brought himself back to reality, Simon pressed the blade against his arm once again. this time, he had pressed the actual blade itself against his forearm instead of the corner or edge. with that he pressed into it, digging it into his arm before nesting it into place. for a hot second, he kept it in place and that would have been enough to harm him, but with one sudden slice to the side, his skin parted abruptly, revealing the white styro underlayer. it stayed this mesmerising white colour for a good second before it began to fill with blood and sleep out of his injury quickly. it wasn't as deep or wide as he was initially expecting, so he moved on to another section on his arm.
twisting his arm around, Simon allocated a spot he chose to cut, and he repeated the same process. digging and pressing the blade into his flesh before slicing. he continued on with this, until their was too much blood spilling out his arm for him to pin point a part of his that wasn't ripped open. just as before, his blood pooled at the bottom of the bath, clotting together and forming this blackish, jiggly substance that left a bright reed trail as it slid. but tonight, Simon wasn't going to stop.
staring at his arm, he stared at his cuts for a moment, watching as blood oozed out of them and as they began to slowly ease..
if a blade like is only going to get him this far, why not go over his work?
so, with that Simon lined up his blade with on of the wet injuries, placing it just at the end of the cut before doing the same thing he did to make them. he pressed the blade down and with one swift movement he cut through the same cut. Simon let out a hiss of pain, suddenly being stung with that hurt he had not had in a long while.. his cut began to begin bleeding once again, not giving Simon the change to look at his work and what he had now done to himself. so, reaching over he'd grabbed himself a wad of toilet roll, dabbing it over his multiswiped injury to at least get a look at his work
it was a gruesome sight to say the least.. it was wide and deep, his skin covered in fired blood, the whiteness of when he'd sliced to styros and his new found layer.. the yellowish fats in his arm, clear as day on display to him. they looked like beans in a way, the way his blood seeped into them and moved around the crevices and outlined them. Simon couldn't take his eyes off his cut.. he felt some sense of pride, awe and pain too all at once. he never knew he'd ever do something like this or reach this deep but.. it felt good in a way? he wanted to do more, to experience more of this feeling and this bravery that had surged through him uppon beginning. and so that is exactly what he chose to do..
doing the same as last time, this man was lucky to have not sliced a vein or anything artery open and to have to call for an ambulance or even his mother to help him in some way. his arm was covered in the revealed fats, or how he'd like to call them now,, "beans". each cut was spliced open widely and stung like hell, dirtying up the place and astonishingly large amount. but did Simon care? not particularly. he had done his damage.. not he had to clean himself up. the part he'd always dreaded the most, finding it boring and time consuming and just.. eughh. he just wished he could have somonone here with him to do it for him or to help him clean up and care for him..
he began to upset himself thinking about this, about how he wanted someone here to cater to his wounds , to wrap him up and hold onto hom after and tell him how they love him and how it's going to be okay and he'll be fine after this too.. but no. instead he's here, bathing on his own shame and forced to stare at his own mess and mistakes, knowing that the pain of doing this will fill him with rage and shame for the rest of the week now..
trying to brushed away his thoughts he began to clean. thinking about how he could have somonone at his side, telling him this isn't his fault. he shouldn't feel this way. was he ran the tubs water, he splashed it up the tub, gathering all his blood with water and sending it down the drain as he also rinsed his cuts under the rubbing water. he usually had bandages on standby so once he had dried off his arm, he began to wrap it in that familiar itchy gauze, wrapping it tight enough for his wounds to close and his arm to still pump blood and breath. it didn't take him a long time at all to finish up his cleaning. Infact it was quite fast this time.. he really just wanted to back to bed at this stage.
so with an arm wrapped up tightly, a bathroom cleaned and his blades In hand, he headed back to his room, putting away his blades before slipping on his hoodie and dropping off to sleep..