Self Harm Drawings Novels & Stories

Sometimes a friend might find out in another way. Without help, people who cut also may continue to feel socially isolated and depressed. People who self-injure may have other problems such as eating disorders, obsessive-compulsive disorder, bipolar disorder, borderline personality disorder, or severe depression that require long-term professional care. " Hey..! ", Gavin calls from my behind. I turn around on the desk chair, averting my attention from my laptop to him. " Why are you now reading about self harm ?", he inquires with furrowed eyebrows.

Warning: This includes self-harm. Read at your own risk. Nalya The ache in my chest grew, and my wolf was silent. I couldn't feel her anymore after she said she needed some time to accept the rejection like he wanted. I cried when I remembered my mate rejected me. I tried to sleep off the pain in my heart, but it was still there. I got a razor blade and cut my inner thighs. It was a habit of mine growing up. Self-injury helped me cope with emotional pain and sadness. It brought me a sense of calm and relief. I made the same pattern I always did, going deeper and deeper into my skin this time. I sighed in relief as I continued my action. I closed my eyes, feeling better now. I threw the razor

Father just knows how to push me to the wall. Angrily, I banged my hand on the wall, ending up with a cut but it was nothing. It didn’t feel the pain and it was always that way. Self-harm always calms me down. I walked to the drawers in the room and grabbed and opened one until the white first aid box came to view. I picked it out, brought out the bandaid, and wrapped it around my knuckles, ignoring the sting that I was feeling. The moment I dropped the box back, the door was pushed open and Nick entered with Liam trailing behind him. “Phineas, I am sorry to come here unannounced.” Liam apologized sitting as Nick offered him a seat.

After all, I was always the sick, fragile child. As a child, though Oscar and I were enrolled in almost the same activities, mine were limited to an extent because of my health condition. When my father destroyed my blue ribbon from my drawing contest, I had resorted to self harm. My heart break that day was soul crushing, till date I still feel the pain because crushed along with that ribbon was a piece of my heart, my soul. I could feel the life slipping through me as voices echoed around me. Vivid flashbacks of that day came back to me in haunting pieces. I could feel myself reliving that moment, muttering the only words that knew my lips that moment, "I'm sorry."

Something about them tugged at my memories. “Princess?” Dad squeezed my arm. “You’re shaking.” “I know those symbols.” “What?” “The graffiti.” I zoomed in on the frame. “I’ve seen them before.” Mom tried to take my phone. “That’s impossible—” “After my accident. I used to draw them in my sleep. The doctors said it was trauma response, but I never knew why I drew them.” Nick gripped me tighter. “Lila, stop. You’re working yourself up.”

Author's POV Trigger Warning: Self-harm, mature themes. The water pounded down on Melody’s pale skin, a cold, persistent drumbeat that drowned out her sobs. Her body was curled under the showerhead, knees to her chest, hair plastered against her wet cheeks. Her right hand clutched a small pen knife, her fingers twitching with desire to explore her own body.

she added, her small voice barely above a whisper. I blinked. “Wait, what do you mean — what drawing?” “Well…” she hesitated, then continued. “After you and Daddy yelled at each other the other night, I was scared… so I drew it. It helped me feel better. But I think I left it in my bag, and someone found it.” I wrapped my arms around her a little tighter, guilt stabbing through my chest like a dagger. “Oh, baby…” “I didn’t mean to make trouble,” she said quickly, like she was afraid I’d be upset.

She has spelt her evil intentions audibly for me to understand and my part is to submit to her whims. I release the grip of my teeth on my lower lip the moment the tinge got painful. I’ve been told not to self harm, it’ll be suspicious if I do. The thought of wounding myself to the point where I am hospitalised has crossed my mind several times daily, because at least in a hospital, I can choose who will have access to my room, but I can’t even hurt myself. I let out an exhale. Acting as if I’m fine when I’m not is the worst thing yet. I am not fine. In all my nineteen years of living, I have never felt so trapped and petrified like I do right now.

From the drawing, it's lunch break and students are milling about around me but I'm standing there, looking stuck and feeling exhausted from the healing process. My eyes are a muddy brown but my lips are stretched out in a wide smile. My shoulders are slumped but my nostrils are flared like I'm angry and my fists are clenched so tightly, it's like I'm trying not to go wild. Like I'm trying to rein in my demons. And I don't even remember this. “These drawings are incredible, Jeremy.” “I should know, I made them and they're called outlines.” I slap his chest playfully, “Show a little gratitude.”

It's messy but detailed — the way his hair falls, that tight mouth, the brow that always looks like it’s suppressing some cruel thought. I never show people my drawings. It’s just a thing I do. To vent, and keep myself sane. The pen suddenly stutters, ink cutting out halfway through another angry line. "Seriously?" I shake it. A weird idea suddenly pops into my head — maybe I should mail it to him, no return address, just the sketch and the words: You're the problem. Because he's technically the PROBLEM. Everything happening to me is his fault. I was normal before I join that company –