My Dear Stranger by Sarah Ann Walker Read Free Book Online

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      I was cutting myself often then.  I couldn't really control the urge to cut myself, at least not when I was alone at home.  Sometimes I did it at school with my metal ruler down my thighs, or sometimes with my keys, but usually I could refrain at school so no one could see what I was doing.
  At home alone was different though.  At home there were too many implements available to me.   Alone at home there were too many sources of release.  Alone at home there was too much freedom to refrain from fixing myself.
  At home, I could sneak my parent’s alcohol and drink alone in my room, or I could use the knife under my bed to cut my legs until I felt better.  So I did.
      I don't know why I had to do either, but I know I always felt better afterward.  The minute I felt the physical pain and saw the blood I was instantly better.  If I was stressed, or tense, or scared or lonely, it helped.  And afterward I was distracted from my feelings because I had to take care of the wounds.  I had to focus on hiding the injuries.  I had to think about what I would say if someone actually saw the wounds, so I was distracted by mending my body and focussing on any explanations I may have to come up with as an excuse.  The wounds were a release and an escape for me.
 
      Thinking about it now, I'm pretty sure I wasn't a 'Cutter' though.  I didn't cut myself because I liked it.  I didn't crave the cutting itself, but rather the feelings that occurred afterward.  I think I just used cutting myself as the means to the release I needed. 
  If there had been anything else I could’ve done I'm sure I would have tried it.  And alcohol helped.  So if my parents were away and I could get drunk in my room, I did that for the release I needed instead. 
      But I know I was never a Cutter per se, I was just an escapist who used cutting as the means to the end.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER 5
     
     
     
      Stretching my arms overhead, I’m aching.  I have no idea what time it is, or how long I’ve been in the garage.  I feel like I just started this thing, yet I’m pretty sure I’ve been at it for a while.
      Walking into my home I realize a bathroom break is definitely needed and another coffee is mandatory.  I’m cold and tired, but I really want to finish this tonight.
     
      After nuking my coffee and using the facilities, I realize I’ve been at this quite a long time.  I don’t know the actual time of night, but I’m sure it’s nearing midnight.  I should probably check my messages, but I don’t really want to hear Jamie’s sweet little voice tonight, especially knowing I didn’t wish him a goodnight at his bedtime, which would also be another first for me.
      I have never been without my son, and I have never not fed him at bedtime, nor tucked him in and kissed all over his little face before he slept.  I have never been without my son, and after this weekend I know I never want to be without him again.  Jamie is mine, and I love him too much to ever be without him again.
      Grabbing a blanket from the hall closet, I wrap it around my waist and prepare for more of this.  I know I have to complete this.  I know I have to get this done this weekend.  It’s time for us.
      Entering my garage, I’m a little disgusted by the smoky smell but I ignore it.  There’s always time to air it out before my guys return to me.  So grabbing one more outdoor pillow I prop it in the lounger and sit back down while sipping my favorite coffee. 
     
      Thinking about my past is weird for me.  I don’t really feel like this was my past because my present is so different.  Everything in my world is so wonderful now.  Everything is totally planned and scheduled, and I don’t ever walk around aimlessly like I did back then.  I know these were my earlier years