I Somehow Gained Access To A Private Chat Room, And Now Someone Is Stalking Me

There is this simple release that comes from watching the blood trickle from a fresh wound. It’s like all of the bad thoughts and negative emotions are waiting just below the surface and this holy, straight razor is cleansing my body of all the terrible things I endure throughout the day. Don’t mistake my self-destructive behavior as suicidal intention or masochism. There is a spot on my thigh that I cut from time to time, but you’ll find no scars on my arms or anywhere you’d see in daily life. This habit; it is almost a compulsion. It is like my blood is this foreign liquid that must be purged from my body.

I work as a floor supervisor for a suicide hotline. The irony of a cutter working in such a place isn’t lost on me. The volunteers sit at their phones while I walk the floor listening in on the calls and keeping notes on the call activity. It says something about how fucked up the world is when you learn that we actually have a quota. This quota is simple. If you call making a suicidal threat, we are to call the police and having you apprehended for a 72 hour hold. The charity that pays our bills is funded almost entirely by three different local psychiatric hospitals. If you call because life seems like it isn’t worth living, chances are, you’ll help us meet our quota when we refer you for a psychiatric evaluation.

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