Therapy (Larry Stylinson)

Chapter 6 - Addiction

Deeper. Go deeper.

The house was silent but the voices in his head were loud enough.

You deserve it. You have to go deeper.

Harry had started hurting himself physically in his last year of high school. He doesn’t know how he got into it really. He had heard about people hurting themselves to feel better and would have tried anything to feel less shitty than he felt at the time. He would just get overwhelmed with anxiety and had to do something about it, something that wouldn’t include talking though.

The first time was confusing. He had locked himself in his bathroom, got a blade out of his razor and stroked his skin before pressing just a little bit, until a thin red line appeared. He wasn’t scared or anything, he was just curious. As soon as he felt the burn, he breathed in and enjoyed the numbness it had created, going away with his current state and bringing a whole new set of feelings.

After over two years doing it, it wasn’t just the need to feel numb. After a while, he got addicted to the sight and the pain. It might sound sick but he did enjoy doing this to himself, punishing himself for being who he was. He would do it when being put under a lot of pressure, when he was hurt, when he was confused about his thoughts and when he just had the urge to feel the burn.

He hadn’t talked about it to Louis in detail, he didn’t want to scare him, didn’t want him to find the darker side of him.

Harry wasn’t a bad person, he didn’t hate anyone, wouldn’t hurt a fly, was kind and compassionate and it hurt him to see people hurt. So whenever someone was hurtful to him, he couldn’t take it out on them. He just wasn’t able to. He would look at them with angry eyes and try to defend himself, but tears would choke him and he couldn’t speak without crying, making the others laugh at him. So he took it out on himself.

He rolled his sleeves up and sat on the floor against his bathroom wall. He threw his head back before taking a deep breath and bringing the sharp end to his skin. He walked it vertically along his wrist, not touching, before going further down to put a pressure horizontally on his arm. He did it slowly, wanting to feel every bit of it, wanting to see the red appear progressively as he walked the edge.

He put it on the floor and admired what he had done. He would always do it on an impulse but regret it right after. Why would he do that to himself ? How sick was it to do that ? How sick was he to like it ?

After a few minutes, he put his arm under the water and flinched, biting his lip at the contact. He was going to fall asleep holding his arm, wondering how he got there in the first place.

He knew it didn’t solve anything, he knew it was a bad way to cope with things, or to avoid them anyway. He knew it was dangerous, but he couldn’t help it, he was addicted.

‘What do you feel when you do it ?’ Zayn asked, looking at his notes as usual, something Harry hated normally, but was thankful for right now.

‘Nothing. That’s the point.’

‘Why wouldn’t you want to feel ?’ Zayn asked as Harry closed his eyes and shrugged. ‘What feelings are you trying to avoid Harry ?’