The sun is shining. It would have been a perfect day. If only papa would let me go out. I'm not allowed at the moment. There have been numerous attacks on people in Zimbabwe. Mostly occurring in the town of Gwanda, the capital of Zimbabwe and unfortunately the place where I call home. I have not known any of the people that have been attacked, which I suppose is a good thing as most of them have ended up dead or fighting for their pathetic little life in a hospital somewhere.
I know, my words come as a brutal shock. I must come across as a heartless bitch. I do have a heart, but trust me, when you have been locked away in your house for over four months without any outside contact, you would not feel so sympathetic to those who have lost their lives either. Being locked up isn't all that its made out to be in fairytales. I am not a damsel in distress and I do not have a prince to come and save me from an eternity in the tower. Those people who have died, at least they got away! I on the otherhand am stuck in this godforsaken house!
In a way I can't really complain, as I do have a very big house and my family are extremely wealthy. My papa tries to keep me as happy as possible. Well, as happy as I can be within four walls. He buys me things, even hires company for me... That sounds so bad right? My own papa pays people to talk to me. He calls them my "expensive friends" - Friends? What does he know! They are all in it for the money. They also watch me. I would even call it spying... Probably under the orders of my papa. It's like having a babysitter at the age of seventeen!
I walk to the bath and start to run the water. It will be my first of the day, though I've already had a shower. It's what keeps the hours ticking each day. It sounds stranges but when I'm in the shower or the bath, I feel clean on the inside aswell as the outside. It refreshes my soul. It feels as if I'm washing away the empty life that I lead. All my sorrows are drowned away along with the non existent dirt that never graces my skin as I'm never allowed far enough from this house to confront it. My skin ends up sore and red because I've scrubbed so hard and sometimes I scrub to the point of bleeding. I don't care though as it feels good.
I step into the steaming hot water and a small gasp escapes from my lips as the sting hits my scratched legs. Its amazing how one slight change to your environment can change everything. I become very emotional in water. It must be the feeling of something warm on my skin that makes me this way. I get thrills when I feel my own blood run down my frail and fragile body. Its gives me a sense of helplessness. I cannot stop the thick red liquid invading my delicate skin, and that's what makes it feel so nice. The way I feel so out of control. My life in reality is controlled down to every last detail: where I go, what I eat, what I do. But when I am on my own, drawing my own blood, I have no way of stopping it and no way of finding help. I'm helpless and out of control.
I have not told anyone about my secret obsession. Why? Because if I did, my parents would most definitely find out. I only have one true friend who I could talk to about it and I am never allowed to see her, as she is white and I am 'black'. Half caste actually, which should be seen as half way. But some people don't see it like that. And if either of us were associated with each other she'd apparently be killed. That's what my papa has told me. I think he is lying. He never liked her. I think outside this house lies a beautiful world. Zimbabwe is a wonderful place now that it is governed by Robert Mugabe. It would have to be, otherwise why would the people of Zimbabwe vote for him? That's what my mama says anyway. However I always notice that when she tells me this, she says it in a robotic manner and never looks me in the eyes. I get the sense that she'd hiding something, veiling what the real truth is. I don't know. Maybe she just gets tired of my relentless questions about the outside world and the constant moaning in regards to not being able to see it for myself.
I want to be able to share my inner thoughts. The most darkest of secrets. And that is why I am telling you. I will tell you everything that happens in my life, you have my word. You already know about my deluded blood obsession. I don't care what people think, that's not why I stay silent. For example, if the whole town found out about my cutting, I couldn't care less. They are just figures to me. An empty human frame. But its what they would do that makes me care. They would no longer let me cut. My parents certainly wouldn't. They would confiscate anything that could be used to withdraw blood from my veins and for me, the very thought is unbearable. My life is empty enough but without my cutting I would have no reason to live. If I have to pretend that everything is okay to continue with my guilty vice then that is what I'll do. I am used to hurting outside, so what harm can it do when I am in agony on the inside?
