Novels About Self-harm Novels & Stories

I felt numb and detached from my surroundings, lost in a sea of self-pity and despair. Tears streamed down my face as I tried to recall the events that led me to this point. I remembered feeling overwhelmed by the stress of my life, the weight of responsibilities and expectations crushing me . I felt alone, abandoned by those I loved and unable to find solace in the world around me. My mind was consumed by thoughts of self-harm, and I had reached for anything within reach to try and hurt myself. The sharp edges of a broken glass, the metal of a razor blade, anything to feel the physical pain that would somehow ease the emotional agony that I had been experiencing.

here I was drowning myself in self-pity. What was worse was the fact that my fiance had severely injured my mother over something that could have been handled by the authorities which now was something I could no longer use due to my fiance being the center of the damage control that was to take place if the police were to be involved. From floating on air to crashing face first into the sidewalk of misfortune I found myself lost/confused and hurt beyond measure from all of those I once held close to my heart. I felt alone and confused about what I should do next with José, would I forgive him for what he has done? Could I ever forgive her or him...was I capable of being sympathetic to eith

I lay on the bed looking at the ceiling, thinking about my demons, the ones that haunt me in my dreams. I am thankful for all the drama that happened today because I didn’t have time to think about my horrible memories. 25th of June, the day my innocence got ripped from me. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight. Every year, when this time of the year comes—I feel dirty. Today, the 25th of June. I still remember his voice. I don’t think I will ever forget it. The whole reason I started writing; to get everything out of my chest. Everything I wrote in my book ‘Behind Closed Doors’ is based on my life, though people might think its fiction. It’s now the best-selling novel, and people don’t

Breaking Free-- An emotional novel about a young expecting mother trying to break free from the pain of her past, while being on the run from her abusive ex. While running from danger, with nothing in hand, Katie bumps into handsome navy seal, Kaleb Song, who promises on his soul to protect the woman and her unborn child from any endangerment that is lurking around the corner. Will Katie break free from the pain and fear that her ex caused her, so that she would be able to trust and fall in love again?

Perhaps, his team members or the other two that were involved in the case? Urggh! I groaned as I strolled to my book shelf. My very help is what I needed badly now. I carefully scanned through the books before settling for a book on delusional disorder. I might find delusions an escape of my past memories. I rolled over, dwelling on the painful path of the protagonist in the novel. He was an orphan like me. Wow, we were really similar. He also watched his parents die. At least, he didn't get to watch his mother being molested.

It was my outlet to stay sane, and I used them to tear the ugliness out of my brain and lock them away to burden the books instead of me. These journals contain every horrid, dark and painful memory I never want to examine again. Almost like cutting open my skull and letting the pictures pour out across the floor for him to see in all their detailed glory. I was always a good descriptive writer; it was my therapy, and now sitting here, it’s the worst thing I ever did. I never intended for anyone to see them, let alone Alexi.

Just his hand covering mine and staying there. I kept going. I told them about what the damage had looked like on the inside. About the thoughts that had moved in during the worst periods, the ones that had said the world would be simpler without me in it, the ones I'd never said out loud to anyone because they'd seemed like evidence of something too broken to admit to. I said them now, quietly and plainly, not dramatizing them, just naming them the way you named something to take its power away. I told them about the self-harm.

it had coffee brown pages and if I knew anything that book was going to get me wrecked and I wasn’t ready for another heartache I bought the book anyway along with a small notebook, and left the store with a paper bag in one hand and a strange weightlessness in the other. why do I always know what's bad for me but still end up going for it. was this another form of self harm? or rather another form of sociopathy? I had so many questions but so little answers I ended up at a nearby café with outdoor seating. It was nearly empty, save for a couple whispering across a candlelit table and a man reading alone near the back.

“If you are going to keep doing this to yourself, why not just jump to your death? Why punish yourself with a slow death? You know what, Julianne? I think you are the most selfish person. You keep hurting the people who really cares about you and every time, you act the victim. Do you think Marianne died because of you just so you can throw your life away without finding out why she had to die?” Tears blurred Julianne’s vision and when she looked at him, they dropped down her face. A weight settled in her throat and her chest squeezed at the same time, making it difficult for her to hold it in. She had never thought about how scary death was until now and the weight of it alone made her trem

He also picked up the two novels of Emily Diamond that his local library had on the shelf— The Kestrel and the Children and The Star of Autumn, though he hadn't got a chance to read a single page from either of them. Not that he expected some sort of answers from this television show and these two “works of urban fantasy and magical realism” (as the publisher described the novels on the dust jacket), but he figured he should still familiarize himself with them. “Leave no stone unturned,” he muttered to himself with a small laugh. Besides, people sometimes fixated on certain works of art for a reason, and maybe he could pick up some of the psychology of the deceased girls if he immersed himse