Something was welling up inside me, clenching at my heart like a fist. Biting my lip i placed the razor shakily on the washstand and reached for the soap, fixing my eyes on the rising foam as the brush swirled round and round inside the cup. But the pressure inside me didn’t stop. It swelled between each of the knobs of my spine, pressing out between my ribs. It felt as though i might explode at any moment. My hands jerked and eyes burned,eyelids scouring them as though they were lined with sand. Frightened, I gripped the edges of the porcelain basin of water, trying to force the feelings back, but on and on they came, stronger and stronger. I could not calm down. The pressure swelled in my head, forcing itself against the fragile cap of my skull. It roared in my ears, filling my throat and nostrils till I could barely breathe. I dug my fingernails hard into my wrist, leaving white half-moons in the flesh, but felt nothing, nothing but the blackness that I could not hold back. Desperately I hurled the soap-cup across the room, saw it smash against the wall but heard nothing. And then distantly, as though I were suspended above my own body, I watched my hand reach out for the razor. The pressure inside was different already, its clotted darkness streaked with a growing sense of purpose. Very slowly, hand not quite steady, I drew the blade down my unsoaped cheek, pressing it quite deliberately into the flesh until it sliced into the skin.
         The cut was shallow but it worked with the perfect predictability of a valve on a steam engine. The release was exquisite. As the blood flowed out so too did the terrible blackness. The rush of the blood soothed me, purged me. And it showed me that I am alive. I felt elated but at the same time quite calm.