Warning: The following passage speaks of self harm. If this is an offensive subject, please don't read...
It started with a paper cut on the tip of my pointer finger. It stung but the sting that I felt was....oddly satisfying. Soon, I frequently had these papercuts. They were all over my fingers and palms. Sometimes arms. It was passed off as an accident, though none of the incidents were. My crave for that satisfying sting worsened and soon, paper wasn't satisfying enough. I used my father's blade next. The one he used to shave with. I'd slice deep gashes into my arms, stomach, and thighs. Sadly my little habit wasn't accepted so they took those away from me. I didn't stop though. I moved to ice and salt, and cusing burns on myself. I still have scars from frostbite. Skin would peel off if you held the mixture to yourself long enough. That fastinated me. If you tried to freshly rip the feeble flesh off, it'd produce a sharp pain. I did that a lot. After a while, this habit became...boring. Next thing you know, I got the opposite way and burn myself. I find that the smell of burning flesh isn't my favoite and the feeling is almost the same as frost bit. I made due with it anyway for say.... Five years? My craving for pain got worse and next thing you know, I'm swirling fingers in sulfuric acid, annoying the agonizing burn as the substance eats away at my flesh. I did this for a while and it satisfied my craving. (He has the power to regenerate skin, bones, and muscle (and his eyes). Though he does withhold scars ^^") But soon, my craving appeared again and this time it was much stronger. I cut over a finger with a swift 'CHOP' and it qent right off. Oh how that hurt. It bled and bled but I loved it. This little habit seemed to grow as I took to doing so of amputations for fun. I don't just cut off and and legs and such. I still simply cut with blades and knives- though it isn't as fun. Sometimes I don't have the time to wait for limbs to grow back, sadly. It's funny how all this began with a simple paper cut.
