A Typical Session :: essays research papers

Ronnie quietly walked into her bedroom and closed her door, locking it behind her. She turned on some music appropriate for the occasion; "Am I Wrong?" by Love Spit Love and "Perfect Day" by Lou Reed being her favorite background music during difficult times. Ronnie moved to her dresser and opened one of its many drawers. She pulled out an innocent-looking box of matches from a local candle store. After opening it, she took out a slightly blood-stained cardboard pocket. Inside... A gleaming razorblade. Pulling the blade from its protective sheath, Ronnie sat on her bed. She took a deep breath, gritted her teeth, and looked at her left forearm. It was getting harder and harder for her to cut; her scars were not easy to cut over, and neither were fresh scabs. Finding a suitable area, Ronnie braced herself and slowly dragged the blade across her skin. Immediately, a thin line of blood streaked across her open forearm. Ronnie could feel relief flowing through her body. How good it felt to cut! How wonderful to release all of her pent-up energy! Eagerly, Ronnie made a second cut. Then a third. And a fourth. Soon, she had rows and rows of thin red lines, each about three inches long, running down her arm. When she came to her inner elbow, she stopped. Ronnie sat and pondered for a moment. Should she, having run out of space on her forearm, make more cuts on the next best area... her left ankle? Debating mentally, Ronnie finally decided against it. After you've cut an area, you can't cut there again for at least a week while the scabs heal. She needed to save her ankle in case she wanted to cut again in the next few days. The cutting done, Ronnie grabbed the box of Kleenex next to her bed. She pressed the tissues against the flow of blood coming from her arm. After several minutes, the bleeding stopped. Ronnie wrapped paper towels around her affected limb so she wouldn't get blood on her shirt and secured the towels with Scotch tape.