When Outsiders Become Numb

People have varying reactions when they learn that you have, in the past, engaged in self injury. 

Loved ones often ask you to promise that you will never do it again. Since it is impossible to predict the future, and I don't like to make promises I'm not confident I can keep, I politely reply that I will reach out for help when I need it - but I can't make any guarantees. 

Some people don't want to hear it, including those who don't believe you should have talked about it in the first place. It's personal, it's ugly, it's shameful, and it should be kept to yourself. 

Then there are the ones who have known about it so long, they no longer react. They may sigh or roll their eyes, but then they turn away. Maybe they are in pain, too, and it is a protective mechanism. Maybe they've become numb after all these years. 

Or maybe, a tiny voice says, they no longer care about you. Would anything make them care again? Those insidious thoughts inspired the poem below, written a couple years ago.


The Price of a Belt


You were mad you had to buy

    a new belt;

You seethed over a broken

    buckle,

Even though my skin was broken,

    too.


Everything is broken.


I can't put the pieces back

    together.

I can't help you fly, I can't

    help you be happy,

I can't give you the

    perfect life.


But for the price of just

    one more belt,

I can fix it all.

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