In My Head
I lie in the bath and hold the razor blade in my head. Everything surrounds me, encases me. Trapped again, no escape, no way out, all is darkness, lies, deceit. All is lost, the future, certainty. All came crashing down around my ears. No, I brought it down, brought it all upon myself. And so I lie in the bath and hold the razor blade in my head.
I see my father coming home, wondering where I am, not bothered too much, I’ve probably just gone out, maybe for another one of my walks, I’ll probably be back soon. It’s never long before he needs the toilet, though, and so he finds me. It takes him a moment to realise that it’s not just red water. I wonder, does he cry? Does he fall to his knees in despair at the loss of his son? Or does he just take it in his stride like everything else. Just another one of my messes to clear up. I can only remember seeing him cry once. Seriously cry. Weep is probably the right word. We were watching Schindler’s List.
I lie in the bath and hold the razor blade in my head. I’m not sure I want to know the answer to those questions. I’m not sure if I’d have to watch and find out.
I see my children hearing the news for the first time. I watch my eldest son’s heart break again. Just like it did when he properly realised that mummy and daddy didn’t love each other anymore. I watch him die that little bit more inside, and blame himself, just like he always does. Christ, he’s only seven, how can he think he’s a bad person already? I watch my youngest shrug it off and know it’s not going to hit him for days, months, maybe years. I hear him ask his mother when he’s going to get to see daddy again, and I see her heart break as she has to explain it to him again, and again, and again.
I lie in the bath and hold the razor blade in my head. How can I even think these things?
I see my mother and my sisters, and wonder if they saw it coming all along or if they thought it would never come to this. I bet they all thought I was stronger. I hate to disappoint them. You’d think I’d be used to it by now. They all wanted me to be different things, and I couldn’t be any of them. I couldn’t be anything.
I lie in the bath and hold the razor blade in my head. A way out? I’m sinking fast, if only someone would fine me here. If only someone would find me. Someone.
I see her in the clouds, an angel, a dream, my saving grace.
I see her in the clouds. I don’t know how she found me here. I don’t know who sent her.
A hand holds mine and pulls me out. I drop the razor blade and don’t look back.
Now I lie in the bath and hold her in my head.
Rivka Jacobs
Again, I had to make sure I read everything carefully. “I hold the razor blade in my *head*” was like a motif, and I thought this story was both a parable and a personal narrative. Without knowing anything about you personally, one could see the “angel” as hope once again, replacing despair. As usual, very well written. Intense, Ian, so intense.
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