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thirty-three dreams
tw: self-harm, blood, knives

「 thirty-three ♥ dreams 」tw: self-harm, blood, knives

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Maybe it was all a dream.

Maybe his touch, the feel of him, those pretty words on his lips - maybe it was all a lie. It couldn't be real.

I didn't deserve this.

I never in my life imagined something like this. I never imagined happiness like this.

But happiness was real. Happiness was right in front of me.

[ • • • ]

five years ago
tw: self-harm

I was twenty-fucking-years-old. What was I doing to myself?

The pounding in my ears wouldn't stop. The shaking of my hands, the tears down my face. They wouldn't quit.

The world was closing in on me. Its black hands reached at my body, pulling me with them until I was struggling in a void of nothingness. It was drowning me, ignoring my silent cries for help.

But the problem was that I already drowned. I was already dragged into the black hole and there was no escaping. Not anymore.

And I realized that no one was going to save me. No one really cares about other people's problems. No one really cares about you.

Sometimes, to escape my mind, I fantasize. I imagine having someone there to hold me. To wipe away my tears, to kiss my face and tell me that everything will be okay.

Doesn't that sound like a dream?

I held the knife against my chest, pressing in deep. The scars there were red and bloody from just an hour earlier, but I couldn't stop. I wanted to, but I couldn't.

The pain felt good. It silenced those thoughts.

I cut. Cut. Cut. Cut.

Blood dripped down my stomach and onto the ground below me, but my hand wouldn't stop. I was shaking, but I couldn't feel the pain. All I heard were those thoughts.

You'll never be enough. No one is here to save you.

Tears streamed down my face and stung my open wounds, but I barely felt them. I was numb to everything, and the words in my mind wouldn't quit repeating themselves.

I cut harder, deeper and deeper until the blade was almost half a centimeter deep in my skin.

It didn't hurt enough.

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