Drip. Drip. Drip.
"Why do you keep hurting yourself?" Dr. Valdez, my psychiatrist, asks using her soothing, reassuring voice. Siya ay nakaupo sa sariling upuan, habang pinili kong umupo sa dulo ng sofa---malayo sa kanya.
Tahimik kong tinitigan ang mga kamay kong nakapatong sa aking mga binti. I pull down my long sleeves to cover my wrists and playfully fidget with my fingers. My breathing is normal, yet my heart pounds pretty heavily. And the white painted walls of this quiet room make my heartbeats echo in my ears.
"Lily?" she calls my name.
"I don't know," I finally answer. Though not a helpful response for her.
"Well then... Just tell me... What do you feel every time you hurt yourself?"
I look at her. I lock gaze with hers. I stop fidgeting with my fingers. She smiles. I try to smile back.
Then I say, "Nothing."
She nods and writes on her pad. "I see, I see."
As time passes, we remain silent, awkwardly looking at each other. This silence heightens my hearing, and I swear I can hear the ticking of the clock, the dripping of the leaking faucet, the busy roadway, the swaying of the wind through the trees, my heartbeat, and the tapping of Dr. Valdez's fingers on her pad.
"Lily, please don't be afraid to tell me anything. I'm here to help you. You just have to open up. Lily?"
I slowly shake my head, looking down at the floor. There, I catch a glimpse of my reflection.
"Lily?"
"Lily?"
"Lily?"
Drip. Drip. Drip.
"Lily?"
I look up.
"Hmm?"
"I thought I lost you there for a second. Are you okay?"
I was silent at first. Then I answer her.
"I was never okay..." My voice trails off.
She gives me a pitiful, understanding look. "What makes you say that?"
Kinagat ko ang aking dila. I keep biting and biting until it bleeds. It bleeds, yet I don't flinch. I stop and let out a deep breath.
"My mind... you see... it's a mess. I'm a mess... Everything... everything's a mess, you see."
My voice and hands tremble.
"Is that the reason why you hurt yourself?" she asks with a hint of concern in her voice.
Umiling ako.
She slightly tilts her head, looking a little confuse. "Then what?"
"That's the reason why I cry. And crying... is the reason why I hurt myself. To stop it. To stop myself from crying. It's effective, you know? I no longer feel like crying, and I no longer feel any pain when I cut myself. It's like... a cure. An addiction..."
"An addiction?" she asks.
I nod. "Yes... I like the way it makes me feel. I can't stop doing it."
"I thought you felt nothing?"
"You don't understand... " I look away. My breathing deepens.
"Make me understand. I'm willing to understand. Just tell me more, Lily." She sounds determined.
Patuloy ang pagkakanginig ng aking mga kamay. So I try playing with my fingers again, not even bothering to throw a glance at her.
"When I cry... It's all about emotion. Emotional pain. I don't want that. I don't want to be vulnerable, fragile, and weak. When I start cutting myself... Those tears... from the pain in my heart shift into pain on my skin. It's different. At first, I was crying because of the wounds in my heart. Then I started crying because of the wounds on my skin. Then I didn't cry at all. Not anymore. I have been cutting myself for a long time now, so I became immune. Because the pain of cutting yourself only hurts during the first or second cuts. That's why I like the way it makes me feel now. It makes me feel nothing."
