Taste The Rainbow

Major Problem

Major Problem

"This has quickly become a subject everyone avoids, though it should not be avoided. No one should be ashamed of this, it is not a bad thing." The counselor explains calmly. I have to admit this is absolute crap, I hear this exact line almost every day, I say this every single day in fact. Though, these kids seem to be eating it up. It's not surprising. These kids truly believe what they're doing to their bodies is wrong, and to a certain degree, it is. Self-harm is not something to joke around with, it's dangerous for these kids. Though, that's only because they're too young to know how to handle it, control it rather than letting it control them.

But of course I don't expect them to control it, they're all children. None of them are older then seventeen, none of them are adults. Therefore they don't know how to control it, they never learned.

Of course, I don't voice these thoughts, I'd be fired then forced into one of these programs, or possibly forced into one of these programs then get fired. In any case, I know enough not to speak my mind. I merely nod along and chip in with the bland "exactly" or "that's right" now and again when the first consoler -- Terri -- pauses. This goes on for the next hour and by the time everything is over I'm nearly bouncing in my dear to leave.

It's not that I don't enjoy my work, I do, I just don't enjoy my work on Saturday's. After all the kids file out of the room I begin to leave, making it seem less like I want to leave as soon as possible.

"Hey, Major, do you want to go out tonight?" Terri pipes up from behind me and I glance back at him in boredom.

"No, I want to go home and sleep," I state. He rolls his eyes but nods anyway, going back to pack up his stuff.

I leave the room, out of the building and to my car. I quickly drive home, antsy to get home so I can do as I told Terri and go to sleep. However, I'm disappointed to realize my parents stopped by, meaning I won't be sleeping today. I swallow hard, wishing my parents didn't come. I love them, but they fight all the time, they bring up old memories I'd rather shove away.

I do just that, shoving those memories away so I can remain calm in front of my parents. I get out of my car, taking one last deep breath to calm myself, ready for what's waiting for me inside.

When I get to my front door, my messenger bag secure on my shoulder so I can take out my keys, I realize the door is unlocked. I sigh at that but open the door anyway, immediately hearing the loud crash from the kitchen.

I close the door a bit rough so they'll hear me, and maybe stop fighting about whatever they're fighting about this time.

"Mom, Dad?" I call half-heartedly. It's not like I want to see them anyway, they don't want to see me. They're only here because they need money, or maybe I'm forgetting a holiday. No, they're probably just bored.

"Major, is that you?" My dad calls, sounding calm despite the fact that not two minutes ago there was a loud crash.

"Yeah," I reply, knowing it's not a good time to joke around.

"Okay," I hear him say, not bothering to greet me. It's not like I need to be greeted though, I'd rather avoid them, they'll leave eventually. Kind of like mice, if you stop leaving food out and ignore them they'll leave, maybe.

I walk past the kitchen, noting that they broke most of my dishes. I'm just glad I got the set from the dollar store, better they break cheap stuff then expensive China. Not that I own good China, I don't care about having good things, I suppose that's due to the fact that my parents always destroy anything good. Or maybe I'm just not materialistic. In any case, I don't care.

I walk down the hall to my room, closing it and tossing my back onto the floor. I turn my radio on softly, not wanting my parents to notice I'm here or else their fight will migrate into here. I fall onto the bed, closing my eyes in relaxation, amazed that they haven't actually started yelling. They're actually being quiet, oddly enough, it's nice though.

Though, right after those thoughts metered my mind, I hear a new loud crash. Considering the house shuddered in assuming it was them punching, possibly kicking a wall. Yay, a new hole to patch up will await me. I'm just glad I own the house otherwise any landlord would have a conniption if they saw the place after my parents leave.

"You're lying! Stop lying to me!" My father yells, followed by another loud crash. It's at these times that I try to get myself to ignore them by blasting my music. But a small part of me doesn't want to do that, the part of me wants to suffer. I honestly don't know why, I know what happens when I listen to their incessant fighting, but maybe that's why I listen, so I can excuse my next actions.

I know I shouldn't, yet as I begin to shake with my own anger, wanting to tell the two people who birthed me that I hate them and want them to leave, I realize I can't make it through the day without it. I can control this though, I control it completely.

I walk into the bathroom connected to my room and close the door. I open my medicine cabinet and pull out the razor, shaking with anger. I close the cabinet and lean against the wall behind me before I slide down to the tiled floor.

I jump and shake more as they yell louder, screaming and destroying my house.

"Stop," I whimper pathetically, feeling tears come to my eyes.

I should be used to this. I grew up with them fighting, destroying all the good things we own. But somehow they're fighting, their harsh words always get to me.

I thought living on my own would get me away from them, make me feel less helpless, less trapped. But here I am, still a shaking piece of s**t who can't even handle a little fighting. I still feel trapped, alone, helpless. I'm a twenty-three-year-old man who's still afraid of his parents. How pathetic.

As another crash sounds through the house I bite my lip, the tears finally falling.

I slide the blade roughly across my wrist, sighing in relief when the pain slices through my unwanted thoughts. Blood pools on my heavily scarred wrist, sliding down and dropping onto my black pants. I don't mind though, I'm happy to feel the pain, it brings me back to reality, brings me out of that dark abyss. I make a new large cut on my palm, knowing too man on my wrist won't be easy to hide with my watch. Cuts on the palm are easily hidden and seem to heal much faster.

I close my eyes after making two more deep cuts on my wrist, not bothering to stop the bleeding just yet.

I allow the blood to drip quickly from my wrist and palm to my previously clean floor.

I don't know how long I sit like that, though it couldn't possibly be that long because a small amount of blood is still dripping from my wrist. As I remain there in a calm, almost high state, I distantly realize register the lack of yelling, and the front door closing followed by footsteps nearing my room.

I don't pay any mind to that though and instead, enjoy the high I've received from my endorphins. But that doesn't necessarily help my thoughts. I'm still trembling, still crying as I whisper for them to stop even though there's no noise left in the house. I still hear them, I can hear them clear as day in my head, yelling for each other to stop, to shut up, to go to hell. It's yet another horrid memory ingrained in my head.

"Major!" I jump in surprise, choking on another embarrassing sob. I look over at the bathroom door to see Terri gaping at me in horror.

"Terri." I greet, my eyes going wide as I realize he's staring at my wrist.

"Major, why did you do that?" Terri demands softly, pain flashing in his eyes as he leans down and takes my wrist in his hand.

"It doesn't matter. Why are you here?" I question, pulling my wrist out of his grasp.

"This is dangerous, how long has this been going on? You need to get help." He adds softly, his eyes trained on my wrist that I now have held again my black shirt with my arms crossed.

"I don't need help, I have control of this," I state calmly though I admit I'm a little less than calm. I like my job, I don't want to lose it because everyone thinks what I'm doing isn't healthy.

"What? You can't possibly think tha--"

"I don't think that, I know it. I have control. I know what I'm doing, now if you're just here to lecture me feel free to leave." I growl, interrupting him before he can finish his lecture. I expect him to get mad at me but much to my surprise, his eyes fill with not just pain but tears. He engulfs me in a tight hug, resting his face in the crook of my neck.

"Major, please, I don't want you to get hurt. I don't want you to die because of this. Please, you need help. I don't want to lose you." He whispers into my ear, his warm tears falling onto my shoulder, leaking through my shirt and making it wet but I couldn't care less.

"Why?" I demand, a little harsher then I intended.

"I don't want to lose you." He repeats, his voice and body shaking with his tears.

"You won't, I have control. I'm not going to get help because I don't need it, and you better not report this." I add, and though my voice is hard I can't help but keep my arms securely wrapped around his lean body.

"Ma-"

"Trust that I have control," I mutter, resting my own head on his shoulder for the comfort. I expect him to argue, argue until I get mad and kick him out. I don't expect his next words.

"Okay," he murmurs, sounding slightly defeated. I open my mouth to reply but he continues before I can. "But you have to let me monitor you, and you need to stop, even if it's just slow." He adds.

"Deal." I reluctantly agree because I know it's the best I'll get.

"Thank you," I add, hugging him tighter.

"Don't thank me, I'm only going this because I love you."