Stories About Self Harm Novels & Stories

for her leaving me. I remember when I was in school and we had a topic on depression, anxiety, and self-harm. I always wondered and questioned myself how people would come to that stage in life where they would hate themselves...try and harm themselves, being isolated from the world and me being the arrogant boy I always was thought I would never reach that stage...I believed I would live the life of happiness and fun yet here I am...years later at a hospital, crying...crying to myself...questioning my own existence of why am I even still breathing after everything I did.

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.

*** Trigger Warning*** This chapter talks about a suic*de attempt and self-harming. CRYSTAL When Jonah left from my window, I sat back against the wall with tears rolling down my face and grabbed my bottle of anti-depressant medication, and took 4 of them at once. I closed my eyes and tried to picture my mom holding me when I was a kid but I couldn't. I kept seeing his face and hearing him in my head admit everything, hurt so much more than the night he told me. I took another pill and picked up my pocket knife and cut another line into my wrist then another. I was done with all the pain I have had to go through in my life. I didn't want to live anymore. I cut a couple more lines on my wrist

Being caught is not guaranteed. The worst wounds are the ones no one sees. No bandage can cover them. No medicine can reach them. They ache quietly, stubbornly, long after everyone assumes you have healed. I never shattered like that. And I intended to keep it that way. My beliefs were stitched together from stories and friends who cried into late-night calls, who questioned their worth after being cheated on, who tried to understand what they had done wrong. I watched them shrink under the weight of someone else’s betrayal.

~Trigger Warning: This story is rated 18+. This chapter contains descriptions of self-harming behaviors such as suicide, self-inflicted injuries, body harm, alcohol and drug abuse, which may be triggering for readers with lived experiences.~ For a while I just lay in bed, falling asleep when I finally cried myself into unconsciousness. Sometimes, I got up to stand in the hot water of the shower, but I’d crawl back into bed. Everything felt empty. Nothing was right, and Noah’s words echoed in my head.

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.

And the girl with the scars… I had forced myself to breathe slowly. To step back. To review the facts without forcing them into place. One in fifteen people harm themselves at some point in their lives. Two children in every classroom. Four people on a crowded bus. Twenty on a commuter train. Two thousand in a packed stadium.

I wanted to swim, no matter how much selfish it was. Closing my eyes, I put my hand over the pond with the heart thumping harder again and breath quickened. Their were times when you see a memory-horrible ones. They were like demons, gripping you, pushing you and never letting you win. They hated happiness. All they wanted was self pain. This was the moment. I hate you. You ruin my life. You made my video viral. Why being lesbian is such a ridicule and wrong in your eyes? You're a cold hearted bitch.