addiction

this happens to me frequently

at some point in the evening, who ever i am with will notice my arms. Some ask questions, and when they do i answer. but some are simply to nervous or find it to awkward to say anything, but there is still that silent recognition. 

They see my arms, and worst of all they think i don't see them seeing my arms. 

there is always the knowledge that at some point in the evening, they will notice. a quick darting of the eyes. the pupils grow slightly larger. perhaps they notice mid sentence and you here that subtle lilt of "what the fuck is up with that" For only a split second, and then its over. 

perhaps they assume i am embarrassed by those marks. perhaps they just think I'm a looney tune fresh from the funny farm. i think most people are curious, but simply don't want to know. its a burden to know. it means giving a small piece of your sympathy, and its a dangerous game to care about more people than you can handle.

What would make someone do that to themselves? 

they imagine me crying in the bath tub in anguish, Forcing myself to something most peoples body won't allow. Perhaps they imagine i do it slowly, dragging it out like a toke a cigar. slowing welcoming that rush of feelings first into me, then slowly exhaling them out like a passing stormfront. 

its far less cinematic/dramatic then that

The addict regards his own body impersonally, as an instrument to absorb the way he lives. He evaluates his tissue with the cold dead hands of a horse trader

-William Burroughs

there is more than one type of addiction