Langst Oneshots

Self Destructive

CONTENT WARNING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Heavy detail into Self Harm, Suicide, Harming others, Eating Disorders, pretty much anything so please do NOT read if you are struggling with anything.

This kind of  went away from me. It is actually just a heavy vent, and the "memories" in this are all mine. Pretty much, this is my diary, all of this happened to me and instead of Thomas, I slapped Lance on it and called it a day. So, this is my life story and I'm not naked in front of you <3  (also an updated face reveal at the bottom bc I have no sense of safety) 

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Sometimes Lance wondered if he was a masochist.

He often found himself drawn to anything that brought him pain, especially once he no longer could find comfort in dragging a blade across his wrist without being sent to the hospital because of blood loss.

At first, it was terrifying.

The slice of his skin, the pink line it was before little dots of blood came pouring out, combining into one thick line slipping down his hand as the water from the shower washed it away into pink bath water.

The fear of being caught, careful to not cut too deep to last too long. His family already caught the scars too many times for comfort. It usually resulted in his phone getting taken away and threats to be sent away.

So, he would result in other things while the idea of him harming himself faded from their minds. Starving himself until he couldn't anymore, loving the burn and aching the feeling left behind. He waited until the last possible moment to eat, and when he did he ate anything and everything, missing the comfort food had brought him.

He would find any possible way to cause himself pain. Flicking bands on his wrist, getting into fights, yanking his hair, pushing his limits on his body. Any way to feel the release of whatever was inside him.

But, at some point, this didn't feel like it was enough. He needed more.

So, he found himself craving any possible way to hurt himself.

He turned to pushing others away.

He dug deep into the relationships of his sisters, telling them everything about what was wrong with them. When he saw the look of hurt in their eyes and the walls they built around, all he wanted to do was scream himself hoarse.

Why did he have to hurt those he cared about to hurt himself? Was it even worth it?

He hated himself more than ever. He couldn't stand to look in the mirror, having picked out every single flaw he could in his reflection. The sting of the glass from where he punched the mirror fed his satisfaction, but it left that static feeling in his mind.

He stayed in relationships he knew weren't good for him. What's the point?

He would watch as his boyfriend made out with his friend, all while denying it, and he would put on a show of believing him. He was the only one who could ever love him, even if he would only ever love his body.

He hated anything to do with sex. It was gross and it made him feel dirty, no matter how good it made him feel in the moment, there would always be that tight feeling in his chest, that he shouldn't be doing this.

But he knew that no one would ever love him for anything but his body.

His birthday was easy to forget. His own dad forgot, many times, and his friend since childhood forgot it before. It's not like it's hard, and he couldn't ever place the blame on someone. He forgot birthdays too, so who is he to judge?