self-injury.net - Latest Short Stories

almost dead

Anonymous — Tue, 07 Feb 2012 02:15:59 +0000

Pale white skin arises on my wrist
Scars string like cobwebs
Some so deep they are still red
Reminding me evreyday
Still to be ashamed, I put on a jacket
To avoid the stares
To avoid the mystic awe
To avoid the knives not only splitting my skin
But splitting relationships;the same painful infliction I have upon myself I do to others whom surround me
But all considering, I'm pretty lucky
Nobody knew the pills I popped at night
Nobody knew I consumed 2 diff meds all at once, to the bottom of the bottle
Praying for it all to end
I should be dead by now
God knows how much I wanted to be
But he gave me life & for a reason

But if I didn't have a girl on my side
I would have died
She was the reason I fought evreyday
She was the reason I had the strength to put down the razor
She was the reason I could put down the pills
If I died, I couldn't see her anymore
If I cut, my pain reflected in her eyes

It didn't mean I never used a razor
It didn't mean I was never suicidal
Urges still were greater than the cause
She had to monitor me, she had to take away my tools, she had to have me talk the truth, she had to hold me tight.

But see, she was willing to do those things
When nobody else would
She knew me for years, so she could see right through me
And what she saw wasn't pretty

I'm no longer praying to die
She has shown me the will to live
I now pray on how to life
This doesn't make me saint, perfect, or even completly recovered Read more »

Dreaming

Anonymous — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 21:14:57 +0000

I sat by the pier, toes skimming over frigid water. The moon was high in the night sky, glowing brighter than ever before. It beckoned me to plunge in to the water. I stood up, glancing at my horrid reflection in the water. My dark chocolate skin was covered in burns and scars I caused. My ribs were beginning to show through my skin-tight shirt.

I backed up to the beginning of the pier, and ran. Thump, thump, thump, thump... My feet hit the wood loudly. I jumped, I seemed to float for a moment. I stared into the face of the moon. It contorted into this evil thing. Sneering at me, it began to laugh, drowning out my screams

As I hit the glacial water, I felt something pull at my legs. I kicked and struggled against this being pulling me down. As I went farther down, my lungs felt like exploding. I took a breath and my lungs filled with water, yet it didn't hurt. When I hit the bottom, I had reached the lair of the evil being. Each cut began to reopen, each burn began to get licked by flame

I sat straight up in bed, and stared up at my ceiling. It wasn't dripping so why was I wet? I turned my head to the side. Oh! My cup had fallen over. I must've fallen asleep again.

world of magic

Hazy-Gray — Sat, 08 Oct 2011 23:02:53 +0000

There was once a little girl whose suffering and neglect ran throughout her seventeen years of her adolescent days. Her skin was pale. Her body still untouched. The softness of her dark locks still remained. She smiled to the world though she was hollow, empty and broken deep inside. 'Dont fix me.' She screamed silently as she adored her sadness. 'Im not broken.' She uttered to herself during her long sleepless nights. Dulcet and Beautiful. Glamorous and Ephemeral.

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Dancing scars

La Beaute de la Mort — Sun, 24 Jul 2011 15:39:37 +0000

I am trapped. I have been for as long as i can remember. Not physicaly trapped, but mentaly trapped. Day in and day out i try to be "normal". But i am not normal. I never will be as long as these scars dance over my arms. It will be summer soon and i will be required to cease wearing long sleeves in fear of overheating. When that happens, how will i hide these dancing scars? From experience they fade over time, but i have no time! Should i continue wearing my long sleeves? Or should i disregard the gasps and stares and wear short sleeves? I am ashamed of my scars. They show weakness. They show pain. They show me. My bloodied arm is scattered with old, brown scars, fading white scars, and fresh, new, raised, red scars. They intermingle in a complicated mess of pain. They dance tauntingly, teasing me into adding another to the tangle. I cannot tell a soul for if i do, they will gasp and stare. All these problems as a result of my scars. All these problems adding to my scars. The only solution is one that i have never once contemplated as of yet.
Suicide.
Yes, it seems horrid, but it is the only pemanent escape from the demons of life. Yes. That is the answer. Goodbye dancing scars. Goodbye everyting. Goodbye. Goodb---

a letter to my mother

amberlisha — Sun, 19 Jun 2011 05:37:56 +0000

your so lame, you bring me to shame i wouldnt even put u in a picture frame. but dame it your my mother, id rather run away you told me you wouldnt care if i was dead, here i am bleeding red, but your to busy in bed. you told me you hate me and now its to late this relationships already bate, i wouldnt even call u a mate keep going at this rate its not my fault you lost the plot told me to got rot, i hope i get shot. i hate life , you through the knive, tried to wreck my life,but your just drunk, im not a punk, you left me in the rain with all this pain i hope i get run over by a train, while im still saine, you cant even walk straight ,your talking slow it makes me feel so low, you told me to go choke, but your to busy having a smoke, the bloke gave you the cash, and you gave me a bash.

i know this is really depressing but its what my drunkin bitch of a mother did to me then, she complains that im suicidal...............well geezz i wounder why???............ what a dumb arss

Sandra

Living_day_by_day — Wed, 15 Jun 2011 04:02:55 +0000

Sandra gasped as the knife slid down her arm, watching the dark red blood run down. Feeling a sort of high she grabbed the blood stained towel and pressed it right below the cut. A tear slipped down her cheek and mixed with the blood. "Why?" Why do I do this? Looking at all the scars covering her body. Why can't I be "normal?" Another tear slipped. Standing up she walked over to her dresser and grabbed some gauze. Wrapping it around the cut she finished getting ready for school. "Hey, Sandra!" I looked up. Derek. "Hey" "Whats up?" He frowned. "Whats wrong, Sandra?" I faked a smile. "Nothing, Why does something always have to be wrong?" Taking my arm he led me over to a bench. "Because I know you. I can tell when somethings wrong. And... He held up my arm. Blood had seeped through my bandage and shirt. "This is Not Nothing." Pulling my bag around to my lap I unzipped it and took out more gauze. "Anyone watching?" Glacing around he leaned in close. "No." I re-wrapped the bandage and hoped it would be okay this time. I looked into Derek's Stormy blue eyes. Read more »

Revenge.

Anonymous — Mon, 02 May 2011 15:15:34 +0000

I pushed my jet black hair hastily out of my eyes and looked around, carefully scanning the path. It was too dark to see what lay in the undergrowth. I rubbed the mud from my knees. I glanced down and caught sight of my shaking hands. I inhaled the cool musky air, my breath catching in my throat. I adjusted my shirt over my chest. My arms felt hard as I thought back over the months of training and work I had put into working my body up for this day. I ran my fingers over my muscular frame. I knew most guys my age only dreamed of having this-not me. For me, my body was an engine. Just a tool. I worked at it and built it up until it reached its full potential. A well oiled machine. Ready for use. Months of vigorous perseverance all building up to this moment.

A light caught my eye; I searched for its source. I twisted my body and it shone in my face for a brief second. I looked at my wrist, my watch glared back. The moonlight bathed across my tanned arm reflecting off the round face of the last thing my ma had given me that day. On my birthday. The day it all went horribly wrong. I examined it, trying to see in the blackness-It was time.

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Red roses

nevermindme — Thu, 07 Apr 2011 19:33:52 +0000

Once upon a time there was a princess who lived in a kingdom far, far away. One day, the princess decided to lock herself in a tower. She wanted to get away from everything and everybody. She thought she would find her peace by staying all by herself all the time, so she didn’t allow anybody to enter her tower. The tower was very high and each day, the princess climbed another floor. She thought that the higher she was, the harder was for people to reach her.

She started doing everything alone. Day after day, week after week and month after month,the princess became more and more sad. Until one day...the day when the princess learned how to write down her feelings. From that day on, the princess wrote at least a few lines every day. It was her ritual and she found comfort in it. A piece of paper doesn’t judge you. It listens.

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Torture room

cry202 — Fri, 04 Mar 2011 17:43:29 +0000

The Torture Room

The four walls surrounding me are cold and damp. The aroma of mildew and mold holds the once pure air hostage, making it heavy and almost unbearable to efficiently inhale. My untenable eyes impel my mind to search for any rational explanation to where I am or even how I got here. However, my eyes ascertain no explanations to satisfy my questions. As I begin to become more and more alert, I realize that the cold surface beneath my aching wet body is not a bed, nor is it a floor but a metal table. I have no recollection of being brought or even being placed on this table. Read more »

suicide failed by love

Anonymous — Tue, 01 Mar 2011 21:59:17 +0000

It was a Sunday, and I was already feeling crappy. No reason in particular. Just one of those days like evreyday where you find yourself waking up to emotional pain and deep depression. A normal, typical day. Then came church Where they talked about what to do with your purpose. Then it came to me. I have no purpose. I'm a dry weed in a juicy green feild. I asked myself why I'm living. I found no anser. I d nothing but bring hell, and feel it right back. I try to do good things, I try to be happy. But I guess I wasn't ment to be. When we went home, I sulked on my couch. I got out my razor and pulled up my sleeve. On my upper arm I cut. Only this time, it wasn't a tiny red line. These were gashes. Gash after gash, and I knew I needed stiches. I didn't even bother to even think about a hospital. The endorphines released in my brain, and I felt a bit better. However, emotions don't matter tonight. It was the fact I have no purpose, I live for nothing. I went outside, and climbed onto the roof. I looked up at the sky, hoping I would spread wings and fly. I looked down and realized how far it was. Read more »