nice there once was a girl who had curly hair and eyes as blue as the sky and i always thought she looked nice we went to school together and became best friends her company was really nice then we were suddenly off to a school very high and she stopped talking to me but i always smiled at her and tried to be nice one day in that school very high though her and her new friends laughed at me insulted me and she'd say, "nice!" after awhile i started to feel bad again very bad and the blade in my pencil sharpener started to look nice i thought if i felt bad on the inside i could somehow make myself feel better on the outside so i took that blade and carved on my skin "nice" but the girl and her new friends thought i looked bad too they still made fun of me and the more they did it the more i drew "nice" and then soon enough inside and outside i was bad and waking up to a new day didn't seem at all nice i was gone that january and made people feel bad when they got up to speak at the podium "yes, she was a kind girl" "she was very kind, very nice"
If I die before I wake, do not waster your energy in mourning me; do not waste your tears crying over me; do not waste your time thinking about my pathetic life and all that could have been. But, please, do not forget me. (DS)
I lay on my floor crying again… shaking. Searching for inner strength and coming up empty. My eyes burned and my mouth was dry as I sucked on air that seemed to keep getting thicker and harder to breathe. I tried to leave again, but ended up leaning my forehead against the door, feeling defeated and wishing the Grim Reaper would come for me in all his silky, black glory.
The night was cold, my hands were shaking. The metal gleamed in the moonlight. How could something so destructive be so beautiful? Then, I thought of your smile. So many beautifully destructive things in my life, so it seemed. I grasped the cold metal in my hands, contemplating my next move. Just a knick of the wrist, that's all it would take to sooth my aching soul. However, deep down inside, I knew that it would only be fleeting. I drew a shaky breath, pressing the cool blade against my warm flesh; suddenly, it was knocked out my hand and I was enveloped in your strong arms. I didn't notice I was crying until your shirt was soked with my tears. You wrapped your arms around my waist as I clung to your chest desperately. "Don't you ever scare me like that again, you hear me?" I nodded silently, not trusting my voice at the moment. I looked to the sky outside my window, whispering thank you to the moon.
Everyone looks to me for strength, expecting me to be able to fix all their problems. Yet, I can't even find strength for myself; I can't even fix my own problems. I tell everyone to stay strong, that they are worth the world and more. However, when I go home, when day falls to night, I am left alone with my thoughts. I can't even look in a mirror without loathing the person staring back at me. I can't look at my own body without wanting to take a blade and tear open my flesh, staining my skin red. Instead of looking to me for the solutions, maybe everyone should just look to me and see exactly what a person is not suppose to be. (DS)
I think you're lovely when you're laying in the grass, your eyes glistening in the September Sun. I think you're wonderful as blood flows down your wrists, and you're fighting against the demons in your head. I think you're amazing when your anger gets the best of you and you shut me out, and you try to push me away—but we both know I'm not going anywhere. But, to me, you're the most beautiful when you look me in the eyes and whisper, help me, I can't do this on my own. And together, we throw away your blades, and you put down the bottle of pills; choosing to not let the monsters in your head win. (DS)
Sha(me) 6 years old, happy face and happy belly I remember my yellow and blue swimsuit and not using floaties for the first time no one would've guessed that i was 6 years old and the bad voices were already there. fat, fat, fat, fat, fat I didn't know why I wasn't like the pink and purple swimsuited girls I called my best friends. 9 years old, crooked heart and hairline I was very, very alone for the very first time and the pink and purple shoed girls laughed at the big books in my flimsy arms. The pink and purple girls did handstands while I sat, picking nervously at my skirt and making acquaintances with the bad voices in my head. stupid, fat, stupid, fat, stupid 12 years old, choked-down tears and chubby face and I liked three boys and none of them liked me. They liked the skinny-minnie pink and purple bra'd girls with long straight hair and high-pitched cackles. stupid, fat, unwanted, fat, stupid, unwanted My arms carried my friends' arms now, but it made no difference. The bad voices knew better. I am 15 years old smaller body but not small enough, and the pink and purple girls still win it all. The bad voices poison me every day, they poison the me in the hallway the me in the mirror the me in my warm bed the me in the cold world the me on my therapist's sofa the me in my head the me in front of a plate the me in front of an exam But I will face the voices and I will sew their lips together and I will start to use my own more. I am waiting waiting waiting I hate this, I tried
That man sitting on the corner of the steet, begging for change—he was once a young boy, playing pretend, dreaming of his future and its possibilities. That girl, with the noose around her neck, hanging so quietly—she was once a young girl, getting lost in a world full of magic, in love with life. That teenage boy, drinking his father's stash of whiskey, in desperate need to numb the pain deep within his chest; there was time when he promised himself he would never let it come to this. Now look in the mirror, is this what you pictured for yourself when you were naïve and in love with life? (DS)
When the metal pierced my skin, staining my pale flesh red, I thought I could control it. Just this once, I reasoned with myself, justifying my sins to my own demons. However, just this once quickly turned into just once more; followed shortly by only when I need it. When the metal pieced my flesh, I thought I was strong enough to control it. Four years, countless scars, countless nights, spent crying alone, playing with fate, later— I realize I was wrong. (DS)
Triggers For some, it's the shiny new blade; for others, it's the dripping blood, that seems to never stop flowing so freely. Maybe, it's the mere word; maybe, it's the mere thoight. For some, it's the sight of someone else indulging in the self-destructive sins. But, for me, it's the fading lines that litter my body; tiny stories left untold, tributes to the nights that were oh-so dark. When they're starting to fade away, blending into my pale flesh, that's when I long to create more, to become an artist, staining my hands red. When my eyes lay upon the fading pink lines that litter my pale skin, a sense of loneliness settles deep within me, right down to the bone. When I see them fade, I start to feel myself fade away with them, hopefully this time, I will finally disappear.
Just a knick, a twist of the wrist; staining my pale skin red. I thought I would be able to handle this; just this once, that's what I kept telling myself. But just this once quikcly turned into just one more time; then, only when I need it. It wasn't long before I lost control of my life, lost control of mysefl. Here I sit, this is the last time, I try to reason with myself. But, I know it's a lie.
30 Day Self-harm challenge 1. How long have you been self harming? Discuss why you started. 2. What part of your body is most affected by it? 3. What is your motivation to recover? 4. Do you consider yourself “addicted”? why or why not? 5. What part of self harm do you dislike the most? 6. What about it do you enjoy? 7. list 10 activities that help you calm down. 8. What the most supportive thing anyone has said to you about self harm? 9. Have you ever taken pictures of your wounds? Discuss. 10. How do you feel about your scars? 11. Strangest place (school, park, etc) you’ve ever injured yourself? 12. Where do you keep your ‘tools’? (Your room, in a box, disposed of them?) 13. What is the biggest realization about self harm you’ve had? 14. Is there anyone you consider to be an inspiration in your recovery? 15. Do you visit any websites about self harm? If so, what are they? 16. What advice would you give to someone about self harm? 17. Do you know anyone else who injures themselves? 18. Write a letter to the future (recovered) you. 19. List 3 reasons that recovery is worth it. 20. What is the most vivid memory you have of self harm. 21. Have you tried to stop in the past? What are you doing differently this time? 22. Where do you feel the most calm? 23. What is your favorite inspirational quote? 24. What are some of your main triggers? Why? 25. Do you know any statistics about self harm? 26. What is something that makes you the most happy? 27. Discuss any and all progress you have made. 28. What short-term goals do you have? 29. Do you follow any self-harm blogs? 30. Post your favorite picture of yourself and write a positive message to look back on. 1) to be able to wear cute cut off shorts 2) to be able to swim 3) to say what ive overcome
I miss the cold comfort of the metal pressing again my skin; I miss the warmth of the red flowing down my skin, staining my pale skin. I miss the calmness, the quietness, the bliss, the pain. But, most of all, I miss the days when I didn't need it.
I wrote a poem for English class; it was about a girl who was lonely, and she took her anger out on herself, leaving pretty pink lines all over her body. My teacher gave me an "A+" she told me she cried a little. "Very well done, keep up the good work, dear." I gave her a small smile, muttering a quiet thank you. Little did she know that it was my last and final plea, hoping someone would finally see that I'm not-so-okay.