Just one more time

by Debbie Brassard

…….”sometimes memories are the worst form of torture.”

That big bright letter etched in the upper right corner of my Biology test seem to be growing by the minute. Disappointed and anger washed through me. How could a 4.0 student be getting an F on a test, I read the chapter, used flash cards. Maybe, the teacher gave me the wrong paper, looking up in the left corner of the paper was indeed my name in big, black letters.

“Everyone needs to be quiet, please.” Said Mr. Brown. He started walking around in the classroom, he somehow stopped at my desk. “ Some of you did an excellent job on your test and well others….I just do not know what happen, if anyone would or needs to talk to me about their test grade, I would be happy to see them, I will be here about ten-fifteen minutes, have a good day, class is dismissed.” He said. She was ashamed to look up at him, she grabbed her books and back pack and rushed to the door, needing to get home quickly, rushing to the bus area.

The first thing to do at home, is run to the bathroom. Sitting on the cool tile floor, she hung her head and began to cry, the demons in her head would not stop.

     Why can’t I carry my heart on my sleeve, like everyone else, instead of in my head?

Standing up, rolling up her sleeves of her sweatshirt, she starts at the previous scars on her wrist and forearms, they look like a road map of cracks in the pavement. She touched each scar and vividly remembered each one from the first to the most recent ones of yesterday. She gripped the rim of the porcelain sink and looked at the self in the mirror. “Just one more time, “she whispered to herself.

                                                     One. Last. Time

The sharp blade of the hunting knife, running across her skin, scraping back and forth, making a red mark, “I need to go deeper” a burning, stinging sensation , her skin began to bleed , the bright red blood dripping down her arm and wrist into the porcelain sink, “I need to release the demons!” she yelled. There was so much bright blood with a discreet coppery scent which was oozing more down her road map arm on her mangled flesh. Grabbing the side of the sink, she needs to slice more of the arm for it to stop, “need more blood, I was bad” she screamed.

“ I am a failure, could not even pass a test, not even the captain of the cheerleading team, I do not even have a permit to drive, because I am scared, everyone is laughing at me!!” The beads of water started falling down one after another, she was sniffling into her sleeves, but ….there was no turning off the water faucet. If only her best friends was still here, he would be able to help her “just pick up the phone anytime, day or night…I will be there, always he promised her. The last night she saw him, “if only you could see yourself through my eyes, you would see a wonderful young lady.” That night, he commit suicide, and then everyone found out about his artistic gallery on his body.

Looking in the mirror, at the person and asking,” would I cut myself again? “Yes.”

“Do, I regret cutting myself?’ “YES”

“Brick by brick, her wall began to come tumbling down, “I need one last thing-is to cut once more, with the blood carrying every bit of life that is left in me away forever.

          My mind was a razor and my heavy heart was my wrist.  Just one more time.