Stories About Self Harm Novels & Stories

I frowned, realizing what I had to do. Aw fuck. I gripped the small blade tightly in my hand as I held it over my arm. I had to cut so enough blood was spilled for me to need April, but not enough that my life was actually in danger. I frowned, as I stared at my lightly scarred arm.I had tried self harm a few times. It wasn't exactly an uncommon practice amongst omegas. It didn't really do anything for me though so I quickly stopped. Still, because so many around me did it, I had a decent idea of where to cut. Carefully, I dug the blade into my forearm, going horizontally as I made sure to nick my blood vessel.

The children noticed subtle changes: a softer tone here, a brief moment of laughter there, the beginnings of apologies and acknowledgment of harm. Mathapelo began writing in her journal, a practice she had abandoned long ago. Each entry became a mirror, reflecting her fears, regrets, and small victories. She documented her interactions with her children, her attempts at patience, and her moments of relapse. Slowly, the writing became a lifeline, a bridge between self-destruction and conscious effort.

And then when I would look back at my bruises, I would hate myself even more. Going back to school each day, people used to think I was a freak. I was the girl who had bruises and scars. Who kept quiet. Didn't talk to anyone. Feared everyone. That's when I started self harm. Sometimes at lunch. Sometimes at night. Those razors were my only friends. I might sound weak. Or somebody else in my place wouldn't have done that. But I wasn't like others. I knew this all would break me one day. I wasn't strong. How could you be?

My fingerprint was all over it. "Do what you must. I give you full permission to do what you have to do." Xavier remained rooted by my side of the bed as Sean exited out of my hospital room. "Doctor what causes one to self harm or cause undue bodily injury to themselves." Sean asked the doctor who happily obliged to answering them. "Well, self inflicted injuries could be caused due to post traumatic stress disorder, depression and subdued anger but there ar——" I did not need to be told that Xavier had silenced the doctor from speaking any further.

I argued back. "Mates fight. Both our brains are fucked up, baby. That's why it gets so explosive. And I wish--I wish we had some way to control ourselves in the moment, but we don't. So you need to promise me that even after we fight, you won't go off and do something stupid. Like saying that I only need you for your body. Or--or hurt yourself," My eyes widened, my head jerking up. I never told anyone about the self-harm."Y-you know?" I asked, my voice shaking.

I answer, telling him half the truth. I never told anyone this apart from an old worker, Jenette. I would hurt myself. I don't know why but I did. Knowing that Vicktor would hurt me I felt so unworthy as if I deserved to feel the pain so I would do it to myself. The first time I did was the third time Vicktor raised his hands on me. I felt everything and nothing at the same time. I remember the day as if it was yesterday. A younger me rushed to the bathroom, searching the cabinets until she found a needle. Confused and hurt to why she has the sudden thought to hurt herself, convincing herself that she deserves it. That she deserves the pain. Pricking the sharp needle into her fingertips watc

They provided a safe space for people to share their experiences, fears, and hopes, fostering an environment of mutual respect and understanding. As they delved deeper into their mission, they discovered the power of storytelling. They found that sharing personal experiences had a profound impact, humanizing mental health issues and shattering the stigma surrounding them. They encouraged others to share their stories, believing that each narrative could inspire empathy, create connections, and spark meaningful conversations.

Miss Seles gave her an encouraging smile, and she told us why she’s here. “Hello everyone, I’m Shantel Morb, a survivor of rape. I feel into depression 3 years after it happened. I had buried my feelings for so long that one day it exploded and I attempted suicide, two times, but thankful someone was there to save me. I hated myself, blamed myself. It wasn’t until I met my husband did the self hatred, blame and suicidal thoughts stopped. He told me it wasn’t my fault, thought me how to love myself, he gave me something to live for “