Taylor was sitting in the car, on the way back to the hotel after her latest show. It had all gone well and she was riding the high – but she couldn't shake the anxious feeling. Her heart was hammering in her chest, her body was pulsing with adrenaline and her hands were shaking.
She was bouncing her leg up and down anxiously, trying to get rid of at least some of this nervous energy. She didn't know why she was so anxious suddenly – just that she knew she was heading towards a full blown panic attack if she didn't get on top of it.
As she was bouncing her leg, she began biting her lip, chewing on the skin intently. Without really knowing she was doing it, she began to use her right hand to pinch the skin on her left wrist. She pinched over and over. When she finally realised what she was doing, she looked down at her arm – seeing the nail marks and small bruises already forming. She rubbed her wrist gently before sitting on her hands – trying to stop herself from hurting herself more.
When she got to the hotel, she began to pace – there was no way she could go to bed, she couldn't settle yet.
Her thoughts were racing – the anxiety she was experiencing was causing her to spiral. She began to replay everything she had eaten that day, the breakfast, big lunch, the snacks, her dinner. The disgust began to build up inside her. She tugged at her hair, tears beginning to fall. She paced, round and round – ignoring her sore feet after a run of 3 shows. She tried to calm herself down – knowing she was exhausted and she wasn't acting rationally but nothing she did worked.
Eventually, after a few minutes of sitting on the bed she jumped up – heading to the bathroom. As she stared down at her razor, she squeezed it tighter – weighing up her choices for a minute before she smashed the razor on the floor and stomped on it – breaking it apart. She picked up the blade and sat with it in her hands – twisting it between her fingers.
She sat staring at it for a few minutes, wondering what it would feel like if she used it.
The adrenaline was still pulsing through her but now she wasn't sure if it was the high of the show or if it was the thought of hurting herself.
She shook herself out of it, putting the blade down on the edge of the sink before rushing out of the bathroom. She sat on the edge of the bed, nervous that she had come so close to doing it. She got herself changed into pyjamas and then laid in bed, when her brain still wasn't calm she tried to turn the TV on to distract herself but all she could think about was the blade in the bathroom and how it would feel to run it over her skin.
After another 10 minutes of the screaming thoughts and the obsession with the cold metal object she got up, padding over to the bathroom. She grabbed the blade then sat down on the closed toilet lid. She looked at her arm then realised she couldn't do it there – too obvious. So she rolled her shorts down, giving her the blank canvas of her thighs. As the cold metal came into contact with her skin she pushed down harder – watching as a small trickle of blood followed smoothly. She threw her head back, taking a second to grab another deep breath – a mixture of pain and excitement running through her mind. She looked back down at her legs and made another cut, then another, then another. Before she knew it her leg was dripping with blood and she had to press the towel firmly against it to stop it. When the stem of blood finally stopped, she lifted the towel up and pulled her shorts back up – she pulled them away from the skin, careful to make sure they didn't touch the cuts.
She walked out the bathroom, feeling like she was floating slightly – she wasn't sure if it was shock but it was a good feeling – a calm feeling. She fell into bed, curling up and ignoring the burning pain in her leg. She laid her head down, listening to the TV as she drifted off.
