True pain is only temporary if you’re willing to look for a way out.

Temporary

With a second of shock it stings and burns but then a ripple of pure pleasure rushes through me like an electric current. The pain is blocked out and there is nothing else. The world stops spinning and I float, float high above my body, on a cloud of pure bliss. If only for a moment my problems seam insufficient and I finally feel alive. Until I crash, until I am sucked back into the depths of reality. My illusion of happiness was simply the effect of unbalanced chemicals. I am pulled backed into my body, realising I didn’t leave at all in the first place. The rush has left me, as it always does. I know that it never stays, but that never stops me, never stops me from doing whatever I can to make my problems cower in fear. This always works, but every time it seems to hurt more when it comes to an end. I try to forget and only remember the feeling of endorphins pumping though my veins. But there’s no hiding from the pain this time. It throbs more than it ever has.  I can’t think straight because the world is spinning to fast, I feel light again, but not in a good way. The rush is gone and I feel sick, nausea replaces relief. My vision blurs and I know something can’t be right. No this is definitely wrong, it’s not supposed to do this, not supposed to hurt like this, it’s supposed to help.  The pain in my throbbing wrist refuses to ease so I work up the courage and I glace at it. My eyes don’t make it to my wrist before they spot the bed sheets; soaked in my blood, proof of the pain. The most it has ever bleed was a thin red line, just enough to make the pain I feel inside real, just enough for the relief, just enough to make me feel human. I am suddenly aware of the warm sensation on my arm and my damp shirt on which my arm is resting upon. Slowly my senses are returning to me and I am hit with the retching metallic sent of blood.  A new wave of nausea hits me unexpectedly.  I have to do something about this; I will stop the bleeding, that’s what I have to do. I lift my left hand and it trembles, but I force myself to squeeze my right wrist as hard as I can. I realize that nothing seems to be working as I grow weaker by the minute. The pull grows stronger and I know I have to choices; I die with my secret or live with the scars.