Stories About Self Harm Novels & Stories

“You think I’m a sex-crazed mess with no self-respect.” “I think you’ve been touched by people who didn’t earn it and ignored by people who should’ve cared.” That shut me up. He leaned forward. “Amelia, I don’t think you’re broken because you like sex. I think you’re hurting because you don’t know how to be seen without offering yourself first.” I felt it then. That crack. The one running right down my spine. Where every word he spoke slipped in like a knife wrapped in velvet. “I don’t know who I am outside of this,” I whispered.

That's what he called me when I did literally nothing. If it was in the past, I would have sunk to my knees, pleading and explaining things to not make him misunderstand me. But, the present me did not care about it. He could think whatever he wished. I was done explaining. Once Beth had spilled wine on her shoes that Edward had just bought her and blamed me I did it out of jealousy. I slit my wrist and offered Edward to drink it to see the truth through my blood. But, he held my bleeding arm and threw me aside.

In the hospital, Rowan sat by my bedside as he subconsciously traced the edge of my medical chart. "Why can't you just let this go?" he asked in a voice so calm that it was almost devoid of emotion. "Are you using self-harm as a way to get my attention?" I looked at him. He frowned at me like I was an insensible child. "Miranda's situation isn't like yours," he continued. "After she lost her memories, I became all that was left in her world. She and I grew up together. Her parents are abroad and barely have time for her, so she's always thought of me as her only family."

"We'll get through this together." They entered the room in silence. The figure on the bed was small and still, face completely bandaged, breathing through tubes. Machines beeped softly in the corner. Harold approached slowly, his heart breaking with each step. "Jezza?" he whispered. No response. The girl in the bed could have been anyone. "The self-harm episodes have been severe," Dr. Morrison explained. "We've had to keep her heavily sedated. She keeps talking about kidnapping, torture, elaborate fantasies about being held captive."

That’s better than seeing him suffer all alone. I wish he will confide to me instead of self harming. He did it before because he thought he’s alone and it’s the only way to deal with his despair as tears were never an option to him. I know he hates to have any weakness but with me he doesn’t have to hide.

She was still holding herself in a ball, still crying, still not looking at me. There was no logic available in this place right now. There was no use standing here and asking Iris to make any sense. I met the doctor outside again. She was waiting patiently on her bench. “People who engage in self-injury,” the woman was eager to tell me, “are at high risk of harming themselves again. With her pain issues, though, I’m a bit hesitant to offer her any kind of medication that might—” The doctor probably would have gone on for a while if I’d let her.

Such a ludісrоuѕ claim wоuld have mаdе me thе сеntеr оf a соmmunіtу ѕсаndаl, аnd there’s nо way I wаѕ gоіng to lеt thаt happen. Thе ѕtоrіеѕ we hеаr аbоut vісtіmѕ of сrіmе аrе аll truе. Yоu dо blаmе yourself, you do fееl ashamed. I did, аnd I couldn’t gеt out frоm undеr thаt shame.

She probably had never truly met a psycho. She has no idea how many girls in this world could not even endure a little hardship at all. Once they met a little trouble, they would directly give up on themselves. There were also girls who would do extremely harmful things to themselves for the sake of a few makeup products, and bags, and to be able to appear glamorous in front of others. Those kinds of girls were far more self-degrading compared to Eevonne.

“I don’t… I don’t do that anymore if you're curious. When I want to relapse I only just hold it as a way to distract myself but there are times where I want to do it and if I keep having it here it’ll just convince me to continue to harm myself.” I can tell Elliot was still confused so I continued. “I haven’t done it for a year and I don’t want my mom to see me like that. She can barely handle me now and I’ve been in worse states that I really can’t be handled.” I tell him and I look down at my hands. “I’m only telling you because I want to trust you. I want to be normal and do things that everyone can do.”

They had to rush me to the clinic. I started to get counseling and had to deal with all the childhood abuse, and also all the alcohol and drugs I had done and all the people I had slept with. And also I talked about how much I’d cut myself, and burn myself. I was going crazy, and all I could think about was killing myself. I hated myself too.