A Collection of Short Stories

Self-Harm

TW: Blades, mention of blood, sh

You were thinking 'just one cut, it can't be that bad' not knowing the pain to come. You take the blade, put it near your thigh, you cut, you feel so good, you feel nothing from it, you feel relief and you continue. You bleed and bleed, but you don't stop, then you hear "I need the bathroom, get out." and zone into life, you quickly clean up and bandage the seemingly endless amount of cuts on your thighs and leave the bathroom with your little secret. Soon enough it becomes a habit, even when you're not sad, just to feel some pain in your life, to feel something in your life. Your thighs are scattered with scars, no space with just skin, no space to feel fresh blood again, so you move to your shoulders, your arms, your stomach, your chest, anywhere you can hide easily and you bleed, and you cut, and you bleed. You continue this cycle for a year, then suddenly you stop, you feel better, you feel maybe even just not sad, but that voice in your head is still there, saying 'just one more time.' but you never listen to it, until one day, you bang your head and it hurts, but you like it. You remember the time when you felt that addictive pain all the time so easily, so you do it again, and again and again. Then you take a blade and run to your room, lock the door and cut, and cut and cut. A never-ending loop until it gets better, but will it ever get better?

267 WORDS