𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕣𝕥 𝕊𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕤 ♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎

𝙼𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 17𝚝𝚑

Requests:

Sad/happy story
Tw⚠️ self harm symbolism,self harm mentions,coping mechanisms,self hatred.Depressive thoughts.

As you can see this story is very focused on self harm.⚠️Pacifically cutting⚠️ and battling mental problems.If you are triggered by this please skip this story :)

I really like this one because it's telling a story of someone who won a battle between their mind and themselves.So of course don't read if you don't want but maybe it will help so enjoy :)

Short because it's the first story 🤷‍♀️
𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹

The red liquid dripped from my arm down to the floor.I draw another one,liquid dripped again this type the red fell onto my paper,I draw another and another and another until all was seen was red lines.I pulled my paint brush away and placed it down on my desk the redness still on the brush some of it falling on my table.

I grabbed my plain white frame and placed it on my arm and applied pressure.I pulled it away and looked at my master piece,the lines of paint matched almost perfectly with my arm,I smiled at the frame and picked myself up from my chair carrying the artwork.I placed it on my wall and looked back at my arm you could still see scars on them,some of them are very fate but some of them you could see so easily.Why would I do this to myself,other people had it so much worse in the world other people arms are filled with deep scares that show such bravery and here I am crying over cuts that were not even that deep.

I felt disgusted by myself I was a coward a selfish coward.

I looked back over at my art how can it look so beautiful when it has such a depressing meaning behind it.My eyes felt heavy but I guess that's what I get by treating myself like shit all these years and now being fucking nocturnal.I looked over to the forgotten mess I created,red paint was still dripped on the floor,I should probably clean that up before it drys and stains the floor.

Once things looked some what clean i turned around once more to admire the painting,painting is the wrong word,a piece of art yeah that felt right because the creation wasn't just some painting,it told a whole story,a battle,one that I won and would remember for all of my life.

I should probably hit the hay if I wanted to get a healthy amount of sleep but before I do,theres one last thing I need to get rid of,to free myself.I needed to end this chapter of pain and cruelty,I need to start a new one a fresh chapter where I could continue my story.

I just need to do one more thing first.

I pulled out the black notebook it had white writings on the front of it saying 'my mind is mine'

I smiled slightly remembering the person who gifted it to me,I have to say I do still miss them,they were so special to me they was the reason I kept going,and when they left it ruined me they left me in the dirt,all the promises we made about never leaving each other was just bullshit its like it meant nothing to them.Their happy now with someone else smiling with them laughing with them,and as much as I wanted it to be me that made them smile like that,it wasn't,it took me a while to accept that but I do now and I'm happy their happy.

I opened the notepad looking through all the pages of a pain filled writings,everything I felt was on these pages,every shatter of my pain was written in the black ink.I need to let this notepad go I need it to go too ashes.Looking at the book brought back so many hurtful feelings but yet it felt nice to remember,it was like remembering a war you fought endlessly in,and then finally,finally you win,and in that moment you know that all the suffering wasn't just for nothing,it was for a cause.