Stories About Self Harm Novels & Stories

ARIA (TRIGGER WARNING: The content below contains self-harm, mentions of sex trafficking, severe sexual abuse, death of an infant.) Three. Three. One. Two. Three. Three red vertical lines. Three. Three times I was assaulted. Three times I was broken. Three times parts of me were stolen. Three times I was left alone, a wrecked mess. Drip. Drip. Drip. Three drops. I dragged my gaze from the crimson lines and looked at the dark drops contrasting sharply against the white marble basin.

“I would never do that to you; you are someone I love and cherish.” I held my head and shook it violently; I was scared of myself. “But I couldn't contain myself. I…” I looked down at my chest, forgetting and letting go of my shame. I unbuttoned my shirt, revealing white bandages, slightly pink with blood on top. “You look this. This wound was caused by myself. I scratched myself and almost killed myself. What if I do the same to you? Lock me up so I can't harm anyone or tie me up; I won't blame or resent you." Ryan furrowed his brows, he wanted to get closer to me, but I backed away myself; I yelled when Ryan showed no sign of wanting to stop. “Don't come here!”

“She left because I was obsessed. I didn’t know how to stop. I beat up her boyfriend. Put him in the hospital.” Damien didn’t move. “They locked me in rehab,” I continued, voice trembling. “I escaped. I went back and did it again. I ruined his face.” My breath hitched. “I almost killed her.” Silence filled the room. I laughed weakly. “I’m not proud of it. I hate that version of me. But it exists.” Damien finally spoke. “And?” I looked up, confused. “And you lived,” he said calmly. “You got help. You survived yourself.”

It held him. And one by one, others stood. A teenage girl who’d fled an abusive household and still wore sleeves even in the summer. A grandmother who’d raised her grandchildren in secret while battling cancer. A gay priest who hadn’t told a soul that he once contemplated suicide in the pulpit. Each story cracked something open. And not just in the room. But in me. Because even now, after all these years, I was still learning. Still softening. Still healing. River – POV There was a moment near the end of the third day when I looked out across the room and saw what Rewrite had become.

Zane caught up with me as he held my arm and asked, “When will I see you again?” “Soon,” I smiled at him and then left. *** TRIGGER WARNING!! — This part of the chapter contains vivid fictional description of self-harm. The attempts were made by the author, who has a personal history of self-harm herself. This is not meant to hurt any sentiments and if you are prone to such content, kindly skip this one and read chapter 35 in which everything about this part will be explained, without the descriptions and graphic content. -Amelia's POV- I reached home in a haste, a little upset that I couldn’t spend more time with Zane and my friends, but anyway, I know I have to be mentally prepared to hear

I had to show Leonardo that I will play on the palm of his hand and cooperate with his plans. But how was I going to do that? Well, he took care of this problem himself. A few days after he locked me in this place forbidding me to go out, I tried to cut my veins with a broken glass of wine. I didn’t know what happened back then. All I remember is that for five minutes I wasn’t myself. I couldn’t’ breathe. There was only one thought in my mind: ‘’Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop.’’ I was out of my mind and the only thing which could ground me to earth was pain. It so happened that I was holding a glass of red wine which I broke and tried to cut myself with. Leonardo came at the exact

Possible de-running is advised if she shows no further improvements by the end of the current treatment cycle. "Every file is the same, psychosis, self-harm, self-imposed starvation, insomnia, depression, suicide" Moni said as she stared at Sebestian "the list goes on and look, she rejected her mate and they are still going to lick her out, just tossing her aside because she is no longer useful" she said angrily.

“She was already sick when I got there. She didn’t tell me and took care of me like I was her own son. She died three years later. I was fifteen.” He looked at me then. “After that… I didn’t have anyone.” My heart cracked clean in two. “And the tattoos?” I asked gently. He glanced down at the ink covering his ribs. His chest. His arms. “They are my self-harm,” he said, voice flat. “Instead of cutting, I let the ink sting. Let the needle prick me again and again. I wanted to feel pain. I wanted to feel alive, Kieran. So, I turned every scar into art.”

"I made some tea and we talked. Cara told me about her little boy, how her family had abandoned her when she let him have a blood transfusion to save his life, they are Jehovah's witnesses. She has been fighting ever since to pay for his medicine. She showed me pictures of them together and she was clearly a good mother" Her smile widens. "The other one, Maria, she had been sexually abused as a kid, she felt the only way someone likes her is if she has sex with them and had concluded she might as well make a career of it as her poor mother could not afford sending her to collage and she wasn't smart enough to get a scholarship". I shake my head. "We talked a lot about positive self image and

"What else did Sophie talk to you about? Anything about why she did what she did?" She hesitates once more. “You probably won’t like what I’m about to say to you.” “Say it anyway.” “Okay.” She squares her shoulders. “He didn’t say it out loud, but I could pick up some clues from our conversation. There are a few main reasons that a child would hurt herself like that. The first is because she wants to commit suicide. I don’t think that’s the case here; Sophie was very engaged with me. Secondly, some people hurt themselves because they’re having a hard time processing their emotions, or they feel empty or disconnected, and the pain helps ground them. Pain is something predictable that they can