Stories About Self Harm Novels & Stories

*** 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.

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.

I've been a liar for as long as anyone can remember. When I was seven, I told Mom that Jared smashed our piggy bank. She searched me instead and found the missing coins in my pocket. When I was 12, I insisted I didn't steal my classmate's notebook. Then it was found inside my backpack. When I was 18, I accused my stepfather of assaulting me. He produced photos proving he was out of state that night. By then, everyone knows exactly what I am. A compulsive liar. A daughter who will say anything. At 22, I sit in front of a camera with my psychiatric evaluation in my hands and start a livestream. "For the next three days, I'm going to show you what it's like to spend 22 years being calle

To feel the pieces scatter just to remind myself that I could still destroy things if I wanted to. But I didn't. I walked in silence, letting the echo of my shoes fill the empty corridor. I headed straight to the restroom. Locked the door. Washed my hands, even though they weren't dirty. I just needed something to do with them. Something to ground me. That push-:I regretted it the moment my palms met his chest. But not because I hurt him. Because I gave him a reaction. And people like Jade fed off reactions. Off vulnerability. Off people like me.

he cut me off, "I know about the self-harm." I froze. "I know you've been cutting yourself. Burning yourself. Hurting your own body whenever your mind convinces you you've failed." My throat tightened. "And I'm not talking about Dyslexia and Disgraphia I know your doctors diagnosed you with Major Depressive Disorder. I know they prescribed antidepressants, and I know you rarely take them because once you feel a little better, you convince yourself you don't need them anymore." I couldn't look at him, shame filled me.

"So deal, okay?" "What about?" "If you kill yourself, I'll kill myself too." "Alright. But if you kill yourself, then I'll kill myself." "Okay." Audrey Simmons is suicidal. Cayden Nowell is too. But when they were about to kill themselves, they met each other on the same rooftop. And so, they made a pact. A suicide pact. This is a story about a boy and a girl who tries too hard to fit into their group of friends but constantly failed.

Melissa’s discarded pregnancy test was swept into the trash can. I agreed without hesitation. If Benedict wanted to play dead, I should play the part of a wife who died out of love, too. With my ten previous suicide attempts on record, the motive was solid. No one would suspect a thing. I smiled faintly. I opened the encrypted file and registered myself with a new identity. ... That evening, as a nurse was changing my bandages, Benedict walked in. He looked at the gauze wrapped around me, and a flicker of discomfort crossed his face.