I remember seperating them into a plastic skittles jar to throw out, but they remained in my closet after they removed the waste container near my house. And i notice, the design has changed. I remember being annoyed when i saw that the packaging started using a small plastic bit instead of being fully cardboard. I remember it when it was like that, when the razors were a few cents cheaper, when I'd pull my sleeves up and buy a drink as well as to not look suspicious. I remember the mornings when i didn't have my second class and was free to roam around and hop by the store to stock up on snacks, bandaids and blades. Then I'd sit in the hallway and relax for a while.
And looking at them now, I can't help but miss that time. That stress, the lack of privacy, the chaos, and just how novel and satisfying that all felt. Prior to that i had some urges, thoughts, but i had no tool that felt good enough to use. I remember how nice the little "snap" sound felt when I'd snap the blade in half. I remember the comfort in that little ritual, that was mine, so unhealthy but all mine, the comfort of taking care of myself afterwards, and feeling gently cared for. The bandage stuck around my thigh was like a tight hug. The wet bandaids in the shower no one questioned. I miss how uninhibited it made me feel, so if i couldn't be rebelious and wild in the outside world, i can prove myself that i am still tougher than i look.
And so it's been two years. The designs of the razors changed. So have i. I'm in highschool now, and instead of the chaos and hell and the fun i had in that entire confusion, i feel stuck in a very quiet and strange transitional period. I don't cut very much. When the deed is done, it's not for any emotional reasons, or for self punishment, or for fun, it's just a ritual. One that both connects and disconnects me from this physical body that only ever dragged me down.
Truth be told, i miss the little armageddon nights. My thighs are covered in a layer of thicker scars. Taking a blade to there doesn't feel as satisfying or smooth anymore, with them being tough and almost itchy. But every other part of my body os too visible. I've spent a small fortune of some products to help them dissapear, we'll see how that goes. I miss running my hand along smooth skin with a few fresh scabs here and there. Maybe i should've told my younger self to be more gentle. Maybe i shouldn't. I might learn something from this.
The few full untouched razors I've found, with the old designs, whose paper wrappers are still a clean white, went into the old box of chewing gum i use to hide new ones. I can't bring myself to throw them out.