Thousands of free stories. Support your favorites when you're ready.
Showing stories tagged with #self-harm Clear filter
I sat across the room from him, sitting and staring at him from his desk. He sat on his bed and stared out the window, a look of guilt and stubbornness plastered on his face.
There you go again losing sense of pride and faith. Feeling worthless you piece of paper. Crumpled and ready to be thrown away. Be positive they say but looking up from the damage of blades.
#10wordchallenge. Hearing a car slowing down. A young girl gets a faint frown. Sadly she quickly starts to smile. Hearing it only for a while. She's all alone, her heart was stolen.
I lock myself in the old white room, Surely I will die very soon. I sit there tucked in a ball, Ignoring my mothers worrying calls.
If I cut myself for attention, If I said I starved myself too, If I etched perfect into my arms, Jealous of a girl I knew, I wouldn't fall out with everyone I thought I knew, I wouldn't get an...
16+ warning. Heat. Condensed into stinging welts. Clenching muscles under too-hot bed sheets. Tears tugged out of reluctant eye corners. A mantra of belief. Whispered under ragged breath.
No. Please stop. What is this about. You said you'd tell me. You promised. Next time you let your pain out. I can help. I can listen. Why don't you see I'm here. Come on. Please.
One cut Two cuts Three cuts, four Come now, dear What's one more.
#beginningline I was stood, frozen, facing the old ornate mirror, and too scared to open my eyes.
"FUCK" I yelled. My throat hurt, my stomach hurt. My everything hurt. I was sick again thats great. Being sick and dedicating your life to a sport wasn't a great thing.
I look at myself in the mirror with such hatred, I see imperfection looking back at me, blue tearful eyes that glare back with no emotions shown in them.
Razorblades and scarlet tears Diet pills and great big fears Food logs and the bathroom scale It's just a test you're afraid to fail A race for control A thirst for perfection The urge for...
She paints a pretty picture But this story has a twist Her paint brush is a razor The canvas is her wrists.
Wishes of words not to come from you. Promise myself to not look blue. Dig a hole. I'll crawl inside. Bury me deep in layers of pride.
Suffering silently, my own sadness, Caught in my own deranged madness, Oblivious, I don't know how, No body wants to know me now.
One more lonely soul. Another lost. Forgotten. You're in my same boat. Dreams and ambition all rotten. You starve. And cut. And hate yourself. You're stressed. And can't rest.
I'm sorry I couldn't be strong for you. I'm sorry I lie. I'm sorry I don't trust anyone. I'm sorry I get in the way. I'm sorry I irritate you. I'm sorry I'm unhappy.
As I sit here. And carve in to my flesh. The pain takes me away. From the places I hate. The blood flowing from my cuts. Are rivers bold and untamed. The knife is my vessel. I ride it willing.
I need to stop .
#household I felt it go in. A strange sensation. Not painful, in fact it seemed to just glide in with no effort at all, but it was accompanied by the slightest sting.
* Written for a pupil in my form who today confided in me as she wants help to stop* She self harms because its a release She self harms because it eases her pain She is a confused young girl...
The shouting drifts up the stairs, I'm the only one left, awake. My siblings are completely oblivious, To the disagreements had every night. I fumble for my iPod, Desperate to shut them off.
World is cruel. It ain't scary. Fear is just. Imaginary. Behind bars. Of darkness. All alone. More or less. Mentally. I cut my wrist. I ask myself. Do I exist. I hide myself. Behind the pain. Who am...
Opuss, I love you. I wish I would've found you a few years ago. This is my blog. To tell what I'm thinking. Some will relate some will give me advice. And I am thankful that here.