I was clean from self harm for a few months, but then I broke. I kept trying to stay clean, so I got off the drugs and I stopped drinking. I failed at that too. I started smoking cigarettes and drinking bottle after bottle of vodka. I was careless and I was a fuck up.
I threw my blades out one day. There were six blades. Two new and four used. Out of the four, three were rusted from blood. The other was broken. I remember how I broke it. I got so pissed off at my parents for treating me like shit, I broke it. It split in two. No piece chipped. It was a clean cut, as clean as the cuts I engraved in myself.
YOU ARE READING
The World Is a Wasteland, and I, My Own Misery
General FictionThe world is full of hurt and I'm my own one way ticket to the pain it brings. I'm eighteen, graduating. Nothing more; nothing less. Warning: Explicit content lies within this book.
