Story About Self-harm Novels & Stories

He told me I was a tease and that I was provoking him every day in class, with my long blonde hair and my perfect smile and ass. I hated myself for a long time. I tried to kill myself twice. The first time, I overdosed on pain meds, if Gerry never came up early that day, I would have been six feet under right now. The second time, I locked myself in my mom's car and tried to kill myself by carbon monoxide poisoning. Mom and Dad found me before it could put me to sleep forever.

, I said to myself as I looked into the mirror. “You can do it, you have to do something, Hayley you are more than this, hurt them where they would have never expected, I hit my fist in the wall because no idea was coming to me and there was blood in my hands, it really hurts to harm myself but I had fucked up, Diago has messed things up for me, I went into the bathroom got a clean towel and placed it around my injured arm, I could feel the goddamn pains in my spine.

I ruined everything. I walk over to the mirror that is in my room. My hair is badly matted and you can visibly see my cheek bones from the weight loss. I have many scars all over. I need to do something. I can’t keep letting them use me but I don’t know what to do. I already tried killing myself, twice, but the witches just keep healing me. I don’t want to kill anyone else. I hear the door to my room unlock and rush to the far corner.

I was thinking about everything that had happened so far and decided that the only way to deal with this was to go on. It was an Innocent fleeting act that I killed myself not to give myself as much as I wanted because it was only going to cause me more pain. He wouldn't ever be able to give himself to me completely like I would have loved so why should I keep on stabbing myself in the back simply because I wanted to feel good. It was a problem that I needed to solve within myself then I wouldn't have to worry about anybody else. “You know that this is absolutely out of control right? You're not supposed to be necking in the corridor where people can see you when you're not like a child.” Ja

"I wasn't ever going to tell you this. But I figure you're stuck with me now... so you deserve to know." I take a deep breath. "I used to think about hurting myself, Robs. A lot. Almost all the time really. And I still have bad days. Today was almost a bad day. Almost, but not quite." "Hurting yourself... how?" Robs asks, eyes narrowed. "Hot baths and razor blades." Robs inhales and exhales, deliberately. "Did you ever try?" she asks, levelly. "No. Almost did once. Chickened out. Knew you'd be the one to find me. Couldn't do that to you. Not after all we'd already been through with Mum and Dad..."

“It's not your fault. When I realized as a teenager that I liked boys, I didn't have anyone to talk to, and after I came out to my best friend Craig when I was 14, he told the guys on the football team, and they beat me up after school one day. They called me a freak and told me to kill myself. I went home that day angry and afraid. I punched the mirror in the bathroom and cut my knuckles. The pain felt so good that I used a piece of the broken glass and slashed my upper arm. I cut myself every day for 5 years. When I was 19, I couldn't take it anymore, I just wanted it to be over. Then my mom died, and it sent me over the edge. I cut my wrists in the bathtub in an attempt to end my life. I

TW: Self Harm. I pulled myself away from the gruesome memory, my chest heaving fast and hard. As I took in a deep breath, my phone dropped to the floor with a thud. The rage. The pain. All too unbearable for me to manage. I needed a distraction. Some sort of pain to dull the one that was already ripping at my insides like a chicken being violently shredded with a fork. And so, I did the one thing that would help bring me back to my senses for a moment, at least. I reached for the glass cup beside me and squeezed it until it shattered, the tiny bits of it cutting sharply into my palms.

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.

" The video ended up on an adult website, deleted a few hours later, on the same day. That day, I cut myself for the first time and, as the blood flowed down the bathroom drain and relief flooded through me, I wanted to die because, once again, I realized that I had no one." "No, don't say that. Don't ever say that again. " I growl, pressing her body against mine until she coughs and begs for air. "I've never been with anyone since that day, I even tried, I swear I tried. However, every time a man tried to undress me, I panicked and gave up, he broke me. They broke me. I don't know who took the video out of circulation, but after cutting me, our maid found me unconscious, and I didn't go to

I quickly repeated the action before using the conditioner. I reached for the razor so I could shave my legs but I paused, staring at the sharp blade. If I was desperate I could have ended my life. It was sharp enough and I still had about fifteen minutes before anyone could have found me. I shook my head and started shaving my legs, dismissing the thought of self-harm because I wasn’t going to give up so easily. I wasn’t desperate enough to kill myself just to end my nightmare. I was going to get through this and get away from these awful people and I was going to go back to my own life and do what I wanted. I carried on shaving my legs and my underarms until they were smooth; savouring the