Self-mutilation Book Novels & Stories

~Trigger Warning: This story is rated 18+. This chapter contains descriptions of self-harming behaviors such as suicide, self-inflicted injuries, alcohol and drug abuse, which may be triggering for readers with lived experiences.~ “That’s excellent. Can you do it with your left hand as well?” I focused on my left side, but there was no such luck. My brow furrowed, and I tried focusing harder. Nothing worked as I tried to channel the feeling of moving my muscles and forcing them to bend to my will.

she said, smiling happily at the thought of their first grandchild. “Hopefully, ma. By the way, I’m here to get my books.” “The ones by Jakara Blue? Yes, it’s on the bookshelf in your room.” Later in my room, I indeed saw about ten books by Jakara Blue that were arranged neatly on a shelf. I picked one of them and traced the embossed author’s name with my finger. This explained why I used the name Jakara Blue as my new name in Japan. It must be because I was an avid reader of Jakara Blue’s books. Remembering about my purpose in coming here, I started opening the folders that were arranged on another corner of the shelf. I had the habit of placing important documents in a folder.

It was as if she only asked that question in passing. They came back home, and my mother went into my room for the first time in her life. Books were strewn about haphazardly on my desk. She picked up a random one and flicked through a few pages. After a beat, she clenched her knuckles. I highlighted a lot of points in the chapters outlining the effects of biological families on a person and thoughts of self-harm. The pages were hanging to the spine loosely and would get torn out if someone so much as tugged them the wrong way.

Azrael asked. “I haven’t gone far into the book but it’s a story based on an actual schizophrenic patient the writer knew; it was meant to educate the public about various mental disorders in the mental asylum they call hell. I thought it would be fun reading a genre I’m not too familiar with.” I explained as I touched the front of the book. “I can recommend something if you get hitched. Utopia by Kelvin McLean. It’s about a nymphomaniac struggling to overcome his issue so that he can be in a happy relationship with the woman he’s been in love with for seven years.” Azrael recommended.

The way she’d wrapped herself around him like she had every right. Like I meant nothing. “Fuck!” I grabbed the nearest thing…a book from the nightstand…and hurled it across the room. It hit the wall with a satisfying thud before falling to the floor. It didn’t help. Nothing helped. I grabbed another book. Threw it. Then a pillow. Then the lamp, watching it shatter against the wall in a spray of ceramic and glass. The destruction felt good. Like maybe if I broke enough things outside, the breaking inside would stop.

No one except me. They expect me to rest while the werewolves and vampires continue to live. While Morgana gets stronger. I won’t allow it. I skim over the pages of the books I stole but it’s basically useless. I set fire to the first book out of anger when I realize there’s nothing in thee that can help me and I’m about to do the same thing to the second book out of anger and frustration before I see something that catches my eye. There’s a passage that is almost completely blurred out. As if someone wanted to purposefully erase the text. If they wanted to erase the text so bad, why not just rip out the entire page and burn it? Stupid.

“You did.” “And the Book?” He shook his head. “Gone.” Her gaze dropped to her hands. The wound where she’d cut herself had healed… but not cleanly. The skin had scarred in a spiral, dark and perfect, etched into her palm like ink burned beneath flesh. The same spiral Mara had worn. The same spiral that had filled the Book’s pages. “I feel different,” she whispered. Tristan’s hand hovered, almost touching hers, then pulled back. “You are.”

That never came naturally. “Damn,” I whisper, still mid-thought, realizing I’ve been saying all of this out loud. A tap on my shoulder jerks me out of my trance. I turn and see my brother, Stephen, standing behind me with that look. “Who in the hell are you talking to?” he asks, one brow raised. I blink. “I was… talking to myself.” He grins. “Well, I’m gonna answer for yourself and say, yes, you need to break up with that man because you’re cheating on him, mentally.”

--- --- And that— --- More than anything— --- Was dangerous. --- --- --- Far away, Malcolm opened the next file. --- --- He had entered the mind. --- He had aligned behavior. --- He had begun mapping contradiction. --- --- Now— --- He would go deeper than thought itself. --- --- **PROJECT: SELF-DISSOLUTION** --- --- Because if the self could no longer hold together— --- --- Then there would be nothing left— --- --- To resist. --- --- Back in Iceland, Charlotte felt the shift again. --- Closer.

She decided to document her journey and insights in a book—a heartfelt memoir that would serve as a guide for future generations. With great care, Luna poured her wisdom onto the pages, sharing her personal struggles, triumphs, and the profound lessons she had learned. She weaved together stories of her own experiences, anecdotes from the people she had met along the way, and the transformative power of authenticity. The book, titled "Embracing True Colors: A Journey of Authenticity," was published and received with great enthusiasm. Its impact spread far and wide, touching the lives of individuals who sought guidance and inspiration on their own paths to self-discovery.