Stories About Self Harm Novels & Stories

That was what was hitting him the hardest. “It’s not your fault. Stop blaming yourself.” Anderson patted his shoulder, trying to calm down his friend. He could see the torment his friend was going through. If it went on, then he would end up breaking down. If that happened then wouldn’t it be worse that plunging a blade into his heart?

Rita delved deep into the recesses of her being, peeling back the layers of pain and vulnerability that she had long kept hidden. She embraced her wounds with compassion, acknowledging their presence and honoring the lessons they held. Through therapy, introspection, and acts of self-care, she began to heal the wounds that had kept her trapped in loneliness and despair. As Rita illuminated the dark paths within, she discovered newfound wisdom and strength. She learned to confront her fears head-on, transforming them into opportunities for growth and liberation.

I wondered over and over if Deangelo was even thinking about me at all, even if it was just for ten measly seconds. I could not take the pain of being unnoticed and unimportant anymore. It was like a constant ache in my chest. And now, I had even started to harm myself. It seemed to be the only way I could cope with the pain. The only way I could feel anything at all. I cut myself with razors, watching the blood trickle down my arms. I burned myself with cigarettes, feeling the sting of the flames against my skin. It was a sick and twisted way to deal with my emotions, but it had always been the only thing that helps.

Jude plops himself on his bed, staring at the ceiling. The image of her wrist was burned into my mind. Those jagged, pale lines, a roadmap of pain etched into her skin. Self-harm. I knew what they were. I'd seen it before. Back in last summer, my friend, Mikey. A quiet, artsy kid who always seemed to be carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He hid it well, at first. But then I saw the cuts on his arms, hidden beneath long sleeves. I tried to help. I really did. But I was clueless, and frankly, scared. I didn't know what to say, what to do. I just… I thought maybe he will handle it.

The woman next to me gave me a knowing smile, like she could smell the arousal on me. He told anonymized stories: the newly divorced mom who cried the first time she orgasmed alone after twenty years; the twenty-five-year-old who’d only ever come from a vibrator on high and thought that was the only way; the wife whose husband called her “starfish” until she learned to ask for what she actually needed. Each story chipped away at the shame I’d been carrying like a backpack full of bricks. “You are not broken,” he said, looking straight at me for a long second. “You’ve just been told a lie so many times you started to believe it.”

- On the other end, Susan was screaming as Mark, pretending to cut a fruit, 'accidentally' cut his wrist. "Mark!!!" She paled in terror and rushed him to the hospital. After bandaging Mark and examining him, the doctor frowned as he said, "The patient is suffering from chronic illness and exhibits self-harm tendencies. Did something happen recently?" Mark shook his head meekly. "Don't blame Zach… it's my own fault for being so weak and prone to self-harm. Zach is just worried about his son—I deserve to be cursed." As he made himself look miserably, Susan held him, feeling for him right then.

She looked up at me, suddenly mortified. “Not again Gabriel." She said, tears spilled from her eyes. Not again, what she meant by not again was the fact that whenever I got really hurt or angry, I would inflict physical pain. Self harm was an easy way to put it. One night, Kylee had caught me with a razor, I was drawing the thin blade over the inside of my elbow and she had walked into the bathroom and she was mortified. Blood was everywhere and because she had startled me, my hand had been jerked forward and the blade had cut into a vein. She rushed me to the ER, I was loosing so much blood I was knocked out of consciousness.

She says as if she just heard the most ridiculous accusation of her life. "How not? You heard that I had a cut and the first thing you do is blame me for letting someone tend to me. Is it my fault that I cut myself. Self Harm never appealed to me and I would only grab a knife and cut my arm if I was crazy", I shout almost on top of my lungs. And I was that crazy yesterday, except no one would ever find out about how crazy I was to cut myself for some attention for a man who only rejected and recieved me in the end.

born out of deep conviction, perhaps driven by self-pity or pain, but the sight was unsettling nonetheless. Each strike left faint red marks on his back, evidence of the physical toll he was willingly enduring. I couldn’t fathom the reasons behind his self-inflicted punishment, but it was evident that his inner torment ran deep. It was as if he sought absolution through this painful ritual, seeking a release from a burden too heavy to bear. My heart went out to him, and I wanted to intervene, to stop this act of self-harm. Yet, I found myself frozen, unsure of how to approach the situation. It felt like witnessing a private and sacred moment, one that I was an unwelcome intruder into. The r

Rafe hissed in pain as the liquid touched his very fresh and watery wounds. “Kaella told me that Lexie passed out last night. Does that have anything to do with these injuries?” "I made a mistake and I've made up for it by whipping myself fifty times." "You shouldn't have done that." Betty threw away the bloodied cotton swab and replaced it with a new one. "Only then can I forget all my regrets." "Didn't your psychiatrist tell you that self-harm isn't the solution. It was just a momentary gratification. You will keep repeating the same mistakes next time.”