Have you ever noticed that, as humans, we hold onto traumatizing events, almost as if they are dear to us? For example, if someone's mother died on a particular Tuesday afternoon, that person would be able to articulate what they were doing at the exact moment that they'd received the call of her death. Or, if a bomb detonated in a large city, the survivors could clearly recall their exact actions, of the exact second that the bomb went off, and even if years had passed, the memory was still fresh in their mind; almost as if it's permanently engraved there, not always prominent, but certainly always present. I believe that's because when we experience such an unexpected shock, the kind that evokes a shattering feeling within our chests, we have a tendency to find comfort in the sadness that accompanies it. At first, our misery is plausible, but once it sets in as permanent, our sadness becomes addictive, almost like a drug. Some are stronger than others, and find the ability within themselves to overpower the dejection, and overcome all obstacles. Others, aren't so lucky; losing themselves completely in the unforgiving sadness; the light at the end of the tunnel dimming for them. These are the people who feel stuck, helpless, impotent, and unimportant. These are the people who become so overwhelmed by the sadness, that they feel the only way to truly free themselves, is by ripping open their own flesh, in an attempt to release some of their inner demons.
These are people like me.
I had lost myself in the darkness, but he had found me.
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Break Me-A Harry Styles Fanfiction
Fanfiction"And just like that, he picked her up and dusted her off. Without even trying. That's how their love was. When she was at her worst, he saw her at her best." -(M.M.) Warning: This story contains scenes of self harm.
