Self Harm Drawings Novels & Stories

My subconscious blamed me. "You know I will not worry too much about anything." I said to myself. I pulled off my coat and sat on the couch to study the drawings. I have five beings to find and I haven't found any. The three of us had five drawings which were all the same, that made the whole thing look more real. The first, a little boy, around Kabal's age. He has a special kind of eye, it looked too white, not gray, he's a little shepard. Second, like a slave girl, I see that she works in a brothel, She has a short hair that barely reached her shoulder. Third, a male with a pet, a white wild cat. Fourth, also a male, he has a birthmark beneath his left eye. The fifth, it's hard to discern

It was blurred out, but I knew it was not me. I dropped the package on the floor and rolled over. The thought of self-harming crossed my mind for the first time. I stood up from the bed and went inside his bathroom. I filled the tub till the water was brimming over the edge. I search Alex's drawer for some blades and settle myself into the tub. Ripping the pack off, I run the blade on my hand, making minor cuts, then bigger. I dropped the blade on the side and dipped my head under the tub when I had enough.

But I refused to be consumed by the thought, and just like the twenty five other trashed papers littering the floor, I ripped off my current hazard and squeezed it before flinging it over to the ground again, ready to try again the twenty seventh time. I had isolated myself in the tiny basement with my usual pad, pencils, and every other materials used for drawing. It was what I liked to call stress venting in practical form. It had been my therapy for so many years and just this few months without a pen and it feels like I've almost forgotten how to draw. A few angry sketches later, I pushed away from my small wooden desk and let my head crash on the surface as I let out a heavy sigh. Getti

And that was okay. Today I was helping Micah, a thirteen-year-old with a shaved head, hoodie sleeves always tugged down over their palms, and the eyes of someone who’d seen more than they should’ve. They weren’t chatty, but they liked drawing. Their sketchbook was filled with figures that resembled comic book heroes, quiet and fierce, with eyes always cast in shadow. They were hunched over a new page now, sketching a person standing in the center of swirling chaos. The figure held a long sword in both hands, the blade resting downward, tip touching the ground. Not raised. Not slashing. Just… there.

As I passed the mirror, I caught a glimpse of myself, my eyes were puffy,pale skin, and lips pressed into a line. I didn’t recognize myself, not completely broken, but cracked in all the wrong places. I curled up on my bed and pulled my sketchbook onto my lap. It took a few minutes before the pencil moved, drawing angry lines, smudging shadows, creating a shape that was somehow both terrifying and familiar. Sharp eyes. Harsh jaw. Silas. Only this version of him was much more intense. I blinked. Where had that come from? I hadn’t even realized I’d drawn it. It looked… too natural.

She said and ended the call. I looked at the papers, squeezed them, and threw them at the far end of the room. Three pencils too, and emptied the little box. They all watched me confused. “I’m not doing the drawing. Do whatever you like, bitch!" I screamed, surprised by my sudden courage. I didn’t even care anymore. Getting killed, beaten up, or kidnapped forever, I cared less. No one has ever loved me. I wasn’t needed after all or cared for all through my life.

I sat him right down and made him watch me cry pathetically as I drew and gave him something no one is ever supposed to see. At least not anyone I wanted alive. My drawings of men sex nude, my hidden shame and therapy. I practically exposed everything needed to truly destroy me in a night. I did all of that not to anyone else, but to the one person who already has something on me! I did that to him? Stefan! What the hell was I thinking? I couldn't help but laugh, with my hands right on my head as I knew…. Yeah, I was definitely fucked this time.

Skincare DIY ideas . She flipped to a blank page and let her pencil move. At first, it was nothing. Then slowly, a picture began to form two figures standing apart, but connected by a single, thin line between them. You couldn’t see the line unless you looked closely. But it was there. Strong and nbreakable. She stopped drawing and just stared. Her chest felt tight. Leo had hurt her. But he had also fought for her in ways no one else ever fought for her. He was her partner in revenge.

I growled venomously. I didn’t stop; I broke into a run and I was gone. No one could catch me, not unless I wanted them to. With every heartbeat, every second that went by, I couldn't take the picture of Kiara out of my head. Her hair half-covering her face, her arm around Rayhan’s waist. His head resting on top of hers… The marks that had littered her neck… (TRIGGERING CONTENT – SLIGHT DISTRESSING SELF HARM AHEAD – PLEASE SKIP TO THE END OF THE CHAPTER IF THIS CAN AFFECT YOU)

He was drawing. She stepped closer, silent. On the paper was not a building, but a hand. A man’s hand, gripping a parallel bar, tendons standing out in stark relief, the knuckles white with strain. It was Liam’s hand, from that afternoon. It was perfect. It was alive with a painful, defiant energy she recognized instantly the same fierce vitality that had been in her own teenage sketches, the ones he’d defaced.